Hell, p.11
Hell, page 11
“That doesn’t make any sense.” She pouted.
“Who ever said the Universe had to make sense?” Dobra asked mischievously. “Now, no more interruptions, we still have three more to go and I am nervous of Yurgis waking up and finding me telling forbidden secrets to his naked daughter. That would not end well for me.
“At the throat we have Vishuddha, meaning to purify. As you can see, it’s color is a deep, royal blue. Now, this chakra is misunderstood as well. Its main function is to regulate the faculty of communication. Quite a mundane thing to some, for the ability to converse has been greatly underestimated. Gossip, pleasantries, idle banter, empty words. This is not what is meant by true communication. When you speak you are converting formless ideas into tangible, conscious vibrations… It is far too deep to get into now, so we will have to move on.
“Ajna, or the third eye, is roughly translated as to see, or to know. While the regular eyes see only the mundane world, Ajna, the mind’s eye, comprehends a higher reality. It governs intuition, and is directly connected with the mind. Far-seeing and direct-knowing, so-called mystic abilities are bestowed with the mastery of this chakra,” he leaned closer to the mirror, studying her reflection. “It is especially striking on you. I dare say I’ve never seen such a perfect Ajna symbol.
“That brings us to Sahasrara, the crown chakra, the center of enlightenment, Doorway to the Universe.”
She parted her hair so he could get a better view.
“Ahh yes, I have seen this before, the hundred-fold lotus holding an eye within each petal. It is a symbol of supreme spiritual awareness and connection. When this center is awakened, one transcends the limits of time and space. The spirit merges with the Infinite, and the veil of this reality is lifted, never to be regained.”
Dobra fell silent, his lecture concluded.
Wow, she thought.
It was too much information to take in. She had fantasized many explanations about her markings during her life. This resembled none of them. Yet, while it was nice to know what they were, it brought her no closer to knowing why.
“Dobra, do the colors themselves signify anything?”
“Interesting that you ask. You’ve seen a rainbow before, yes?”
Tat was puzzled, “Of course.”
“Have you ever noticed the order of the colors?”
“Well… no, not really.”
“Okay, seems you get a little physics lesson as well,” Dobra smiled. “The spectrum of visible light, all the colors that the human eye can register, can be located on a scale according to the vibration, or wavelength, of the light. The lowest color on the scale is red, then orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet; the same as in a rainbow, the same as in your marks. Each different chakra is an exponential increase in energy, as with light.”
Much of this last, went straight over Tat’s head. She’d never had any formal schooling and all this talk of wavelengths, and exponential increases in energy only served to confuse her.
“You still haven’t told me how you know all this.”
Dobra chuckled before answering, “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to. I’ve said too much already.” He was getting nervous.
“Please, Dobra, I have to know.” She begged.
Dobra hesitated so long, she thought he might refuse, then he dropped his voice to a whisper, “Yurgis and I did a job in India that I am not proud of and shall not discuss. While I was there I became fascinated with the Hindu religion. It was then that I learned about chakras.”
“Is my father a Wizard?”
“Why on earth would you ask that?” He replied, a strange expression on his face.
“I saw him light a fire without flint or steel by snapping his fingers, like magic. And in our travels, he was shot in the leg. He healed in twenty hours. It isn’t natural. I have done… things, as well.”
Dobra sat in thought for long moments before answering, “Tatiana, while there are many secret, mystical things in this world, I can tell you in complete honesty that magic, and wizards, don’t exist.”
He cut off her impassioned protests with a raised hand.
“If it exists, it’s not as you imagine it.” Repeating the same line he used earlier, still making no sense to her. Again, she started to protest as Dobra stood and started for the door.
“I’ll reveal no more tonight, I have already said far too much for my comfort. I will leave you with this. I have feigned a reason for Yurgis to accompany me on an errand tomorrow. You are to remain locked in your room. I have hidden a key under the floorboards by the door here,” he indicated the spot with his foot. “What you do with this knowledge is entirely up to you, though you must remember that free will does not mean freedom from consequences. Whatever you choose, be sure to search my room first, third door on the left. There is something waiting there for you.” He quietly closed the door and locked it, leaving her no chance to question him further.
The next day, after they’d left, she slowly counted to a thousand, then pried up the floorboard, earning several nasty splinters. Lacking any real tools, this took the better part of an hour.
Why couldn’t he have just given me the key?
Giddy with thoughts of escape, she emerged from her room carrying everything she owned in a rucksack and shoulder bag. Absentmindedly locking the door behind her, she descended the stairs, heading for the front door, and freedom. Here she paused, her hand on the knob, as Dobra’s words came back to her...
“Free will doesn’t mean freedom from consequences.” She breathed.
In her haste to be away, she hadn’t considered what would come of her actions. When she was discovered missing, Yurgis would naturally assume his old friend had a hand in it, and her father had a long history of making those who betrayed him disappear. Dobra obviously knew this, why would he take this risk? Last night he claimed he would never defy him. And when and why had he hidden that key anyway? What was really going on here?
Beyond that, she was a wanted criminal, there was no way she’d be able to avoid detection for long, never having had to fend for herself before. Being caught, tried and hung, beheaded, or whatever this country did to execute its murderers wasn’t a pleasing prospect. If she was going to be checking out, it was going to be on her terms; her hand slipped off the knob...
Dobra’s room. Something was waiting for her. As much as she hated to do it, she turned her back on freedom, climbing the stairs to the master bedroom. Though it was locked, luckily her key opened that as well.
It was a large, orderly room, if a bit musty, containing a four post bed, an expansive writing desk, a chest of drawers, and bookshelves lining every wall. If she wasn’t going to escape, she’d best be back in her room before they returned. Which, for all she knew, could be any time; where was the object he’d intended her to find?
Without any idea what she was looking for, she began methodically searching. Stripping off the bedclothes, checking between the mattress and box-spring, opening all the drawers in the bureau. This turned up naught but several half-finished letters. The crowded writing desk as well yielded nothing of interest besides a collection of leather-bound ledgers stocked with meticulous lines of meaningless numbers.
Left with no clear alternative, she started scanning the bookshelves, searching for the slightest clue. The vast majority of the volumes were in foreign languages, she could be missing something important and never even know it. Twenty minutes wasted, flipping through randomly selected tomes, growing evermore anxious by the second.
Then, almost by chance, something caught her eye.
A gap in a bottom shelf corner, once noticed, glaring as a missing tooth. A book had been pushed back out of sight. She got down on her hands and knees, reaching in and pulling it out. Her breath caught in her throat as she read the title; it was the same book of Italian poetry she’d had since she was a child. Her puzzlement turned to shock as she realized it wasn’t just the same title, it was her copy! The cover was even damaged where it had fallen into the mud!
How? This made absolutely no sense.
The only possible explanation was that Yurgis had to have salvaged it and brought it with him. But how did Dobra acquire it? How would he know it was hers? Whatever the truth may be, there was no doubt that this was what he meant for her to find. There had to be something more here.
She numbly thumbed through it, and sure enough, as she reached L’infinito, something fluttered to her feet. She knelt to retrieve a torn photograph, yellowed with age. It showed two men she identified as Dobra and Yurgis standing before an actual pyramid, its bold outline stark against the sky. Her father was holding something...
It was her as a baby.
She looked to be no more than several days old, even in black and white her markings were plainly visible. The photo was ripped so she couldn’t tell who, if anyone, accompanied them. On the back, penned in fresh ink, it read, The four of us, on that day. There were three in the picture, counting herself, who was the missing person from the photo? It was an intriguing mystery.
As she studied the old picture, the front door burst open, Yurgis’ booming voice breaking the silence. She hadn’t expected them so soon, either they’d finished their business early, or he’d suspected something and forced them to return; she suspected it was the latter. If discovered outside of her room it would be bad, not only for her, but for Dobra as well; she had to act fast.
Emerging from the master bedroom, she spied them pouring drinks in the living room below. The floor plan was open, so she would be clearly visible to them as she crept along the second floor towards her room. Holding her breath, she went for it, staying low, stepping lightly, hoping her father wouldn’t glance upwards...
Creeeeeaaaaaak.
A loose floorboard turned her blood to ice water in her veins. Dobra looked up, seeing her an instant before she dropped to her stomach. Why hadn’t she crawled in the first place?
“What was that?” Yurgis demanded.
“I am sure it was simply Tatiana moving around in her room. How about a shot, I have several wonderful imported Tequilas…” Dobra was attempting to buy her time. She pensively shimmied a meter or two on her stomach. Her door was around the corner and down a hallway. Between here and there was the landing for the stairs, If they ascended, it would be all over.
To her horror, Yurgis was not so easily reasoned with, “You think I am idiot? That came from nowhere near her room!” The sound of glass breaking, her father stomping towards the stairs. She had one chance, as soon as his back turned towards her she scrambled forward, grabbing the nearest door handle, diving inside as he reached the second floor.
It turned out to be a closet. Sweating profusely amongst a press of winter coats and croquet mallets, she strained to detect them continuing down the hall to her room. The bangs and rattles as he sought to force the door were audible even here, her ruse had worked. Though grateful for the utter serendipity that had caused her to lock her door behind her, she now had to figure out how to get there with her father prowling around.
Luckily, Dobra was still working to give her an opening, “See Yurgis, the door is still locked, she’s probably asleep. Leave the girl alone and let’s have our drinks.”
Please, please, please, she repeated to herself, willing Dobra’s trick to work.
“Where is key? Open this door, NOW!” Yurgis was having none of it. All she could do was sit tight and hope that Dobra could buy her a minute at least.
“Of course Yurgis, the key is downstairs, come with me and have your drink while I fetch it, she isn’t going anywhere.” The barest tremble of fear in the edges of his voice.
Her heart stopped in the time it took for him to respond... “If she’s not in room when I open door, will be bad for you.”
Their footfalls sounded on the steps and Tat gripped the knob with slippery hands, ready to make a break for it.
“Okay now, where was that key?” Dobra was obviously giving her a sign that it was okay now to make her move. Taking a deep breath and swallowing through a dry throat, she cracked the door open and stepped out. Dobra couldn’t stall for long, as she turned the corner the sound of their steps once again approached.
Groping in her pocket for the key, hands so slippery it fell from her fingers to the carpet. She frantically bent to pick it up, forcing it into the lock as they mounted the stairs; opening the door and slipping inside as the top of Yurgis’ head appeared.
Silently shutting the door, she dropped her packs back in the corner before realizing that she’d forgotten to relock the door! She dove across the room, turning her key in the lock at the same moment Dobra inserted his key from the other side, forcing her own out of the lock, dropping soundlessly to the carpeted floor. Lacking the time to pick it up she stepped on it, dragging her foot away from the door, coming to a standing posture in the middle of the room as the door opened.
“Oh, you’re back,” she said breathlessly. “What news of our passage to London?” Trying her best to appear relaxed and innocent.
Though Yurgis appeared suspicious at first, he gradually calmed down when all appeared to be in order. Dobra wore an expression of extreme relief. It was touching that he would hazard so much to help her. She didn’t even want to think of how this would’ve ended had she taken the front door to freedom. Now she had to make sure she didn’t move and reveal the key…
“All is prepared. Dobra has arranged for us to be packed in crates like cargo. Has bribed someone to let us out once we are underway. It’s like they say, no laws at sea, yes?”
Tat, being extremely claustrophobic, was not particularly thrilled by this plan.
“Many documents had to be forged,” he put his arm around Dobra. “Same as I remember him, a man of action, yes?” They did a little dance that ended with an elaborate handshake, then burst into laughter. They turned to go and Yurgis called back, “Early to sleep, dear Daughter, tomorrow we leave for London and our grand fortunes.”
As soon as she was alone she heaved a massive sigh, collapsing on the bed. Her hands were shaking.
That was too close.
Pulling out the picture she sacrificed her one chance at freedom to obtain, she studied it closely. The pyramids perfectly resembled the ones from her dreams, what was the significance? Another piece of the puzzle, serving to raise more questions than it answered. She tucked it deep in her bag and spent the rest of the day trying to calm herself, drifting in and out of troubled slumber. Brought on by her failure to escape, deep-seated feelings of shame returned; just as she failed at everything in her life. Refusing dinner, she spent a sleepless night with frayed nerves and regret in her heart.
She was still awake early the next morning, trembling as she listened to the banging of hammers. Presently, a knock came at her door.
“Come Tatiana, it’s time.” Dobra called.
She was not ready for this. A branching spider web of possible paths she could’ve taken stretched out before her clenched eyes; another decision made, another reality she’d chosen. Now it was time to face the consequences. Taking much more time than necessary, she packed up her gear, descending the stairs to find two freshly assembled crates awaiting them.
Yurgis waved her over, “There is food in kitchen, eat now for we have no way of knowing when is next meal,” a crooked smile playing upon his lips. “Oh, and if you have to shit…”
There was fresh fruit, vegetables and sweet rolls laid out on the table and she helped herself. She was not looking forward to this at all. Ever since she was a child, tight spaces terrified her. No rational reason, it was just how she was made. If it was connected to a traumatic incident during her childhood, that memory was lost to time.
After stalling as much as she could, the dreaded hour arrived; no more excuses. Dobra helped her into the smaller crate, hands at her sides, stiff as a board. It had been lined with straw, barely big enough for her. Packs stowed at her feet left her no room to maneuver whatsoever. The last sight she beheld was her father’s leering face as the top was laid on and nailed in place.
It felt like a coffin.
Right away anxiety gave way to panic. Breath quickening, her body started to squirm, exacerbating her discomfort. Then she was hoisted into the air, roughly carried into the crowded street. Sound came from all sides at once, though the slats fit together too tightly for her to see anything. Her disorientation worsened as razor-sharp shafts of sunlight flayed her eyes with rectangular intensity.
She was loaded onto a cart which bumped and jostled the last few kilometers to the docks. It was all she could do to keep from screaming as her crate sat for what felt like an eternity, awaiting customs inspection. After several minutes she heard voices approach...
“Alright, what have we here?”
“Priceless antiques and works of art bound for the court of the prince of Wales, sir.”
“Well, I suppose I better take a look then.”
She gasped, adrenaline flowing, heart rate increasing ten-fold; was she about to be discovered?
“I wouldn’t if I were you, sir, the manifest says that the cargo is too valuable to be disturbed, see? Here’s the official seal of the monarchy.”
“Oh, well everything appears to be in order, hurry up and get it onboard, we have three hundred more to inspect before lunch.”
“Right away sir!”
She was lifted again, carried up a gangplank and into the ship. Then came a moment of free fall followed immediately by a tremendous jolt as she was disdainfully tossed into the hold. The last vestiges of light, extinguished as she was buried under a mountain of freight.
There was no way of knowing how long she lay in that wretched pine box in the belly of a steamship. In her agitated state, time stretched out, minutes becoming hours, hours becoming days. This time was spent first demanding... then begging... finally screaming to be let out, maniacally beating and scratching at the lid of the crate until her hands were bruised and bloody.
To make matters worse, the constant rolling and undulating of the ship induced in her a terrible sickness. This being her first time on the ocean, this had never occurred to her as a possibility. There was barely enough room to turn her head so she didn’t choke as she vomited. The smell was awful, the sting of bile burning her nose. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it was slowly coagulating into her hair, causing her scalp to itch. This was utter agony, if there was a hell, this was it. A lake of fire didn’t frighten her half so much as being shut up in this box, unable to move.
