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alquis6-3

Nine - Cruel Fate

Solana's unconscious body had to be loosened gradually from the rack,
lest more damage be done, and Luisa took an hour to unwind the taut
ropes. When the limp woman was untied, the physician helped reset her
limbs. She woke, briefly, but the pain of her injurie s w as so great,
she quickly lost consciousness again. She was laid, unbound, on the
floor of her cell.

For the first few days, the swelling in her injured spine caused
paralysis from which, Maria admitted, she might never recover. But
after a time, Solana found sensation in her fingers and toes, and two
weeks after she had been broken on the rack, she could once again move
her limbs.

After six weeks, Solana had regained most of her strength, and the
Jailer decided that she again be locked in fetters. So the thick and
heavy iron was closed about her wrists, and locked with a key, her
arms above her head while she slumped, naked, against the cold and
slimy wall of her tiny cell. She did not try to escape, but bore her
restraint silently, sitting with arms raised and hands drooping from
the shackles for day after endless day.

Beneath her passive facade, though, was dread of further torture.
Being stretched had all but broken her spirit: another hour of
suffering, and Solana might have confessed anything to stop the
torment. She knew that one more session upon the rack would break her.

Almost three months after being released from the rack, though, Solana
had not been returned to the torture. Instead, she had spent the last
six weeks locked in chains, all but forgotten by those who accused
her, a wretched and grubby creature. Six weeks in which she had not
once lowered her arms, not once been able to touch her own body with
her hands.

But on the eightieth day, more than four months after her arrest, she
wa s w oken by the arrival of guards. Their appearance was such a
surprise, she had no time to react as they bound her wrists, then, by
means of another rope, her elbows. A gag was thrust into her mouth.

She was taken, via long corridors, endless stairs, to the H all of
Justice. H er bare sole s w hispered on the chill mosaic floor. She
was a wilder sight than when she first arrived: grubby, her black mane
a little longer, unkempt and tangled, eyes dark from long months of
suffering. She was made to kneel before the Inquisitors. H er eye s w
idened a little at the sight of Luisa Consuela, closely wrapped in a
heavy cloak, pale eyes fixed with an expression Solana could not
gauge.

The Clerk spoke. �I present the Prisoner, Solana Degas. She arrived
one hundred and eighteen days ago, and has since been undergoing
questioning.�

The Inquisitor leaned forward, inspecting the naked woman before him.
�She seems to have endured well, considering.�

The Clerk: �The Torturer-In-Chief, Luisa Consuela, has decided enou
gh
time has been spent upon the subject.�

�Indeed?� The Clergyman to the Inquisitor's left
raised an
eyebrow.

�Aye, My Lord.� Luisa's voice was strong.
�She rece
ived one hundred
lashes of the whip, then twenty hours upon the Chair, during which the
spike was heated, and spent two days on the rack, whence I ensured her
torture was carried to the fullest extent.� Luisa looked down at th
e
wretched Solana. �She did not confess, and I believe her innocent.
�

Solana's head lifted. Could she be hearing this? Was it some kind of
awful joke, a way to draw a confession from her? But the Inquisitor
seemed equally surprised. �This is truly unusual, for a witch to be
found innocent.�

�As God' s w itness, I believe it is so,� Luisa
said.

Tear s w ere beginning to spill from Solana's eyes, and she glimpsed a
tiny smile on Luisa's beautiful face. But the Inquisitor's next word s
w ere chilling: �We anticipated this, and have called upon a witnes
s
from Sanguesa: Catalina Lacrosse.�

Solana's breath caught in her throat. Guard s w ere sent to fetch the
woman whose testimony had led to all this agony. Slender, with straw-
blonde hair, green eyes. Catalina was beautiful, but her heart was
hollow, and when she took the witness stand and fixed her eyes on
Solana, a cruel smile crossed her lips. To see her rival kneeling on
the floor, wrists and elbows roped behind her, gag in her mouth, was a
joy to Catalina.

�You know thi s w oman, Solana Degas?�

�I know her.� Catalina's rich voice was lit with
triumph.

�Do you maintain that she is a witch?�

�She is a witch indeed.� Solana looked directly
up into the
cool green
eyes of Catalina, who met the stare with pure gloating.

�We must confer.� The Inquisitor and his fellows
muttered i
n
consultation. Solana's knees ached, her twisted arms hurt, her earlier
moment of hope shattered by a few cold words. Now, the Inquisitor
looked up, addressing not the prisoner, but Luisa. �There is still
a
question to settle. We recommend you put your prisoner again upon the
rack.�

Solana's face paled. She suddenly felt weak, faint. There was no
torture she feared more, and her bladder loosened at once in her
terror, urine wetting her thighs, spreading in a puddle across the
mosaic floor. She tried to plead and beg for mercy, but the gag
stifled every sound, and she could only look in desperation to
Catalina Lacrosse, whose green eyes blazed delight at the knowledge
that Solana would soon stretch again between the rollers. The
Inquisitor beckoned the guards, and Solana was hauled to her feet,
taken from the echoing H all.

Again, Solana' s w rist s w ere locked in the fetters.

For two days, she slumped against the wall of her cell, arms above her
head. Long ago, she had tested the strength of those shackles. Now,
she did not even try, knowing that her restraint was as unavoidable as
further torture.

H ence, time was a resource Solana did not lack: though not all was
spent in the numbness of despair and self-pity. H er mind had not yet
been dulled by her ordeal, and thoughts now hounded her: why had Luisa
changed her mind? Why the verdict of innocence? Solana had not missed
Luisa's dismay upon hearing Catalina's testimony. Luisa had wanted
Solana freed! It seemed unthinkable that a woman who took such obvious
pleasure in the infliction of pain might suddenly feel mercy or
remorse.

The answer came on the third day.

Solana had been hovering on the edge of sleep - true sleep was rare -
and awareness returned to her only at the sound of her cell door
softly closing. H er arms had gone to sleep, her hands completely
numb, and for a time she remained slumped, half-hanging in the
shackles, eyes trying to focus on a single ruddy point in the
darkness.

A lantern, turned so low the wick barely glowed.

�Is someone there?�

�Shh.� The female voice was soft. Solana heard
movement, bu
t could not
see the figure. In darkness, the woman drew close, until Solana could
feel breath. Then, soft lips touching hers. Solana closed her eyes,
opening her mouth to the kiss, the gentle invasions of a tongue. The
kiss lasted a long time, Solana's lover putting a hand to the small of
her back, urging the kiss deeper.

Finally, they broke. With her arms chained above her head, she was
helpless to deny the mouth that descended to her breast, gently
licking its curve, tasting the velvet skin, finally centring on her
pebble-hard nipple. Solana gasped. H er lover sucked and tugged on her
nipple, drawing it into full engorgement. Then the other nipple,
sucking until it was so erect it hurt, and Solana felt arousal, deep
in her belly.

Finally, a soft voice in Solana's ear: �Do not fight
it.�

Luisa' s w arm body came against hers, breasts crushed to breasts,
Luisa straddling her chained prisoner. Luisa kissed as she had
tortured: with passion, conviction, her tongue deep in Solana's mouth,
her hands roaming the muscled landscape of Solana's flanks. Solana
responded with soft moans, encouraging the very woman who had hurt her
so cruelly.

Luisa whispered into Solana's ear, �I love you.�

�Tell me again.� Solana twisted her hands in
their manacles
.

�I love you.� Luisa's heart soared.
�I love you, I
love you!� She
crushed her mouth to Solana's, kissing her again, deeply, urgently.
Then: �Let me please you.�

Luisa slid down to lick the gentle ravine of Solana's breastbone, then
lower to warmly spear her navel. Solana sighed, grasped her chains
tightly. Luisa's lips followed the soft, velvety trail to the full
thatch of Solana's pubic mat, feeling it s w iry crispness on her
cheeks and nose, H er mouth found the wet ravine of Solana's sex: she
kissed it, tasting its slippery heat. Gently, she began probing with
her tongue, licking at the berry of Solana's clitoris. Solana sighed
deeply, arched her back off the cold cell wall.

Luisa went slowly, her tongue caressing Solana's clitori s w ith
maddening slowness, until the latter was gleaming with sweat, moaning
in desperation. Spreading Solana's brown thigh s w ider, Luisa dipped
her head lower until her tongue found the tight pucker of Solana's
anus. She kissed it gently, teasing it with touches of her tongue,
gradually pushing inside. Solana gave a groan, feeling the approach of
orgasm, swelling like a balloon inside her.

She came with a gasp, a shudder.

H er task completed, Luisa slid up to lie alongside Solana, her hand
brushing the smooth geography of Solana's naked body. She kissed the
damp hair of Solana's armpit, kissed her lips. � H ave you anything
to
say to me?� she whispered.

In the dusky light, Luisa could see Solana's eyes shining. Finally, in
a soft voice, Solana spoke. �You may break me on the rack, fix me u
pon
the chair, or whip me bloody. You have that power. But I will never,
never kiss your whore's arse the way you just kissed mine.�

�But -�

�I could never love you.� Solana sneered. H er
face turned
to Luisa's.
�You are the lowest worm upon the earth. You-�
The savage w
hump of
Luisa's fist into Solana's undefended belly ended the sentence, and
Solana jack-knifed with a shriek, wrenching her hands in the shackles,
unable to protect herself. Luisa was on her feet in a moment,
fastening her fist in Solana's hair.

�Bitch!� she shrieked. She punched Solana again,
then again
. Each blow
landed with a savage bass concussion in Solana's belly, driving a
shriek from her lungs, her hands helpless claws above the fetters that
restrained her. A rope of saliva spilled from her open mouth.

Before Solana could recover, Luisa drove her knee into Solana's face
in a splash of saliva and blood. �I'll teach you, you
witch!ï¿
½

Solana drooped limply out of the shackles, one heel digging weakly at
the stone floor.

�You will regret your words,� Luisa hissed.
Tears of rage f
illed her
eyes. �You will regret them!�

A half hour later, guards entered Solana's cell, bringing chains,
couplings, and a pair of shackles attached to a three-foot iron bar.
Solana watched with growing dread as they passed the chain through an
iron ring in the ceiling, attached the shackle bar to its end.

The tear s w ere already spilling down her face as they came to her
with the key to her fetters. �No,� she wept in
misery and f
ear. �No,
please, please, I beg you �� But they unlocked
her wrists,
and,
lifting her by her arms, dragged her to the centre of the room. She
sobbed as her chafed wrist s w ere placed apart in the new shackles,
and locked tight.

� H eave!� shouted one of the guards. The chain
clattered t
hrough the
overhead ring, and Solana gave a shout as her body wa s w renched up,
to her knees, her arms spread up above her head, the fetters biting
into her hands. � H eave!� She was hauled
half-off the floo
r. � H eave!
� Solana's feet left the floor, her whole body suddenly suspended b
y
the arms.

�No! Oh, Lord, no!� she shrieked in sudden pain.
�I
t hurts ! It hurts!
� She kicked her feet desperately, eye s w ide with pain, as the
chain's end was secured. �Do not leave me like this,
please!ï¿
½

�Quiet, or we shall gag you a s w ell.�

Solana fell silent, swinging on the creaking shackle-bar, her feet
twenty inches from the floor. She wept as the guards left, closing and
locking the cell door. There was nothing she could do: she was hanging
by her shackled wrists from the ceiling, beyond reach of anything,
helpless, naked.

Solana hung, silent, alone. She was cold, naked, suspended in the tiny
cell by her wrists. Thi s w as Luisa's punishment for Solana's
defiance, and the latter realised that she had been a fool.

H anging, she could do little but reflect on her punishment, thoughts
and hopes and frustrations swirling about her dangling body, taunting
her, driving her half insane. She was acutely aware of every moment,
and for perhaps five or six hours, she hung silently, not uttering a
sound, not moving, just stretched, naked, cold, drawing shallow
breaths into her lifted ribcage. H er hand s w ere shapeless claws
above the shackles, numb, useless. H er arms ached terribly.

She had thought suspension was torture enough, but she had been naïve.
Eight hours after they had hung her in chains, the true torture began:
the agony of crucifixion. Suspended as she was, the muscles of her
chest worked harder to maintain breath. Now, after so many hours
hanging, the muscles began to fail, and Shantella felt a shortness of
breath, like suffocation. H er response was instinctive; try to pull
herself up, and ease the pressure on her chest.

She managed to raise herself a few inches, catching breath: then hung
for a quarter-hour or so, until forced again by lack of air to heave
herself up; each time, kicking her feet, gasping air at the apex of
each tortuous climb. By the fourth time, a new sweat had broken out
over her body, her arms and shoulders burning with strain, her wrists
cruelly bruised by the motion. Droplets beaded all over her torso and
limbs. Each time she tried to rise up, it was a smaller distance, and
she caught less breath; finally, after more than two hours of effort
and torment, her arms no longer had strength. She fought to raise
herself, gasping with the unending pain, the crippling agony that
speared through her arms and chest. But she was too weak, and drooped
helplessly beneath the shackles, gasping, covered in sweat. All she
could do was kick her feet, her body twisting beneath the shackle bar.
H er burning arms stretched above her. Now, deprived of even her own
strength, she was truly helpless. She could do nothing but hang, until
she was freed, or until she died.

� H elp!� She croaked towards the bolted door.
�Ple
ase, I have been
punished enough!�

No response came.

Defeated, Solana let herself hang, let her eyes half-close, gasped air
in tiny breaths.

Finally, after hanging in the shackles for twelve hours, Solana
blacked out.

She woke again, but all sense of time and place had become confused;
had she been unconscious for just a few minutes, or for hours? There
was no change to signal either; her arms burned, tortured by her
constant suspension, muscles and joints strained and stretched. H er
shoulder s w ere on agony, the muscles all down her sides and back
hurting badly. H er triceps and forearms ached. Worst of all, her
abdominal and chest muscles cramped and spasmed as she fought to
breathe, unable to get enough air to sustain her failing body.

Briefly, she kicked her bare toes, but nothing would relieve the
manacles' suspension, nor get her feet any closer to the floor.
Gradually, blackness returned.

Solana woke one more time; or rather, was torn awake by a shock of
agony through her chest. She found herself paralysed by exhaustion,
hanging limply, her chin on her chest, her arms racked with the agony
of strain, her body cold and immobile. She could not move a muscle,
but her belly, driven by a reflexive desperation, spasmed in shocks of
pain. She managed to gulp air, and it briefly gave her strength enough
to lift her head. H er numb hand s w ere still locked in the shackles,
and by them she hung; she willed her fingers to open, but they
remained tight.

Solana gasped, felt cramps spearing up through her sides, engulfing
her belly, a hot fire of agony, and the spasms became sharper,
shallower.

�Please!� she choked, though barely any sound
emerged. She
realised
that thi s w as the moment of her death, alone, hanging in chains in a
cell, abandoned and forgotten. H er body naked, without strength,
suspended like a dead-weight. H er chest spasmed again; the chains
rattled, her feet swung above the floor.

As her gasps drew less and less air, blackness again closed in.

Ten - Maria

A pause. A few moment s w here nothing happened.

Then the slow creak of wood, the grassy screech of ropes, and the wet
popping of stressed cartilage and bone. Maria let out a long scream of
pain, utterly powerless to stop the rack delivering its agony. H er
thin body was drawn, hands roped to the top roller, ankles to its
base, fierce tension in her young limbs. Sweat covered every inch of
her, matted the wisps of hair in her armpits, the tiny tuft of black
between her slim thighs. H er lush mane of black hair was splashed
across the rack's coarse wood, her brows compressed in an expression
of sheer bewilderment and pain, her red-lipped mouth wide, white teeth
exposed as her scream expired into agonised wailing.

Luisa forced the roller again. Fresh groans from the machine and the
fragile body upon it, another long scream. Maria shook her head,
unable to believe the agony that burned through her limbs and ravaged
her back, a red hot savagery that worsened with every passing minute.

Luisa enjoyed stretching women on the rack immensely. Not just the
sounds of groaning wood, tearing joints, the endless screams. She
enjoyed the position it put them in: arms above their heads, leg s w
ide, the most humiliating and vulnerable position in which a woman
could be bound. And then to extend that very position, to make it the
cause of such pain, was a wonderful experience. And what pain! It took
advantage of the entire body, exponential, controlled by the lever.

Luisa watched the ropes on the ends of Maria's gleaming arms and
shining legs, and forced the lever again. She actually saw the moment
the ropes pulled, saw Maria's body visibly stretch like tautening
leather, and was rewarded by a long cry from the young woman. Maria's
dark eye s w ere wide, her face a mask of pain. H er ribcage stood
out, her tiny breasts drawn to nothing on her boyish chest.

�Please ... stop!� It was all Maria could
manage, before he
r voice
dissolved into an inarticulate yell of sheer torment.

The door to Solana's cell was opened, two guards and a physician
entered. Central to the room, a dark and muscled body, oiled with
grease and old sweat, hung naked from a shackle bar. H er head down,
veiled by the black mane of her hair, Solana did not move.

� H ow long has she been left unattended?�

�Our order s w ere for two days,� one of the
guards replied
.

The physician put his hand to the woman's shining chest. H e looked
surprised. �She lives.�

The anchored chain was released, and clattered through the ring,
Solana's limp body sliding to the slimy floor. She gave a moan, lying
where she fell. The guards rolled her onto her stomach, drew her
muscled arms behind her back, tied her wrists securely with rope.

H elpless, she was made to walk the labyrinth to the torture chamber.
Past the Chair, then, much to her relief, past the dreaded rack. But
in the depths of the chamber, by the light of low-burning torches, she
came upon a scene that tore her heart from her chest.

�Oh, God ...�

The young woman lay, unbound and semi-conscious, on the flagstone
floor. H er naked body wa s w et with perspiration. H er back and
buttock s w ere a mess of bloody lines, easily two hundred lashes
having landed on that flinching skin. Blood flecked the floor all
around her, even a pillar some three yards distant.

Behind her, herself splashed in Maria's blood, stood Luisa Consuela,
flanked by a guard.

�What have you done?� shrieked Solana.
�What is thi
s?�

�Thi s w hore -� Luisa pointed down at the
barely-conscious
Maria -
�has disobeyed the Church, and me, by giving her body freely to the
prisoners! For that, she pays the ultimate price!�

�Maria is innocent!� Solana's eye s w ere wide.
She fought
the guards,
tear s w elling at the sight of Maria's ravaged body. �Please, let
her
be!�

�That is not part of the plan,� Luisa admitted.
�Un
less, of course,
you confess to me.�

Solana froze. Could it really come to this? A simple word from her
could free Maria from her anguish? Or was Luisa simply intent on
destroying Maria regardless, attempting to break Solana's resistance
in the process?

�Before you say anything, you should know that Maria has already
suffered upon the rack, a s w ell as the lashes I laid upon her. She
confessed to Witchcraft; to taking on my form and trying to seduce
you.�

�What?�

�She confessed, and in her confession she also told me that you, to
o,
are a witch.�

�And is it any surprise?� Solana struggled in
her guards' r
estraint.
�Upon the rack, anybody would say that!�

Luisa smiled. �Your devotion is touching.� To
her guards:
�Secure
her.�

Solana was dragged to a pillar, to which a high set of manacle s w ere
attached. H er hand s w ere untied, her wrists instead fettered above
her head. While Solana was being secured, Maria's guard bound the
young woman' s w rists securely behind her back with thick rope, tied
her elbows together to pinion her arms completely. Poor Maria was
utterly helpless.

But her ordeal was not over. There was a wooden bench, waist-high, no
more than ten feet from where Solana now stood fettered. Maria gave a
groan as, by her bound arms, she was lifted by her guard, dragged to
the bench, and folded forward over it. Another guard produced ropes,
and proceded to bind Maria's ankles to the legs of the table. H er
slim leg s w ere widely parted, muscles defined, the black and hairy
secrets of her sex and anus exposed. With her arms twisted and bound,
she could not resist. Finally, Maria's body was forced down onto the
table so that her breast s w ere pressed to the wood, and a weighted
iron hasp was placed over the back of her neck. Additional weight s w
ere placed upon its base, so that she could not rise.

Solana looked on in despair. The slim young woman, legs parted, arms
bound behind her back, bent forwards over the table. Now, Luisa
stepped into view, and Solana saw with horror the instrument the
beautiful torturer held.

�The Pear,� Luisa said. She raised the device,
turned its s
crew a few
times to open the bulbous blades, then closed them again. �I want y
ou
to watch.�

�Noo!� Solana shook her chains in horror as
Luisa put the c
old nipple-
like tip of the Pear against the delicate, hairy brown star of Maria's
anus. The young woman jerked in her ropes, but was helpless. Firmly,
Luisa pushed, and Solana saw the metal device sink inside Maria's
rectum. At once, Maria was crying out in pain, her sphincter cruelly
stretched by the intrusion. Inch by inch, it was forced inside her.

�Please, Mistress,� Maria begged. She wa s w ell
aware of t
he Pear's
function, and her voice shook with terror.

�You are a dirty little whore,� Luisa said
coldly. ï¿
½And you must
suffer.� Finally, looking at Solana, Luisa gave the screw of the Pe
ar
a turn. Maria's slim body jolted violently as the sectioned bulb began
to flower inside her bowels, and the pain hit.

�Ohhhh! Please, stop!�

�Watch what happens, now, Witch,� Luisa told
Solana.

�Stop it!� Solana shrieked.
�Stop hurting her!ï
¿½

But Luisa turned the Pear again. This time, Maria let out a scream of
pain. The metal segments of the Pear were slowly forcing her rectum
wider, and the pain was unbearable. Droplets of sweat beaded all down
the taut backs of her bare legs, over her buttocks and back. She
struggled desperately to free her bound wrists and arms, but was
helpless to stop Luisa turning the screw a third time.

Maria let out a bellow of agony; odd squeaking and creaking sound s w
ere coming from inside her pelvis as the torture device began to do it
s w ork. A trickle of blood emerged, to run down the sweaty skin of
Maria's thigh. H er scream s w ere manic, long and terrible.

�Scream for me, slut!� Luisa shouted, and turned
the Pear's
screw
again. This time, loud cracking sounds came from Maria's rectum, and
her screams reached a new pitch. H er sphincter, tight around the
Pear's narrow base, mercifully hid the terrible consequences of the
widening device, but for another run of crimson blood.

�Stop it! Stop it now!� Solana tugged and jerked
on her cha
ined
wrists, weeping openly at the atrocity she witnessed, but Luisa was
feeding on Solana's misery, and slowly, cruelly, twisted the Pear's
screw once more. Maria screamed like a woman insane, jerking in her
ropes, shrieking and baying in agony as the awful, muffled sounds of
her rectum tearing apart reached those around her. Already, her
injurie s w ould be fatal; but the Pear was not yet fully open, and
Luisa twisted the screw again.

More creaking and tearing sounds, but this time Maria's screams caught
in her throat, and instead became a long, hoarse wail. H er body was
covered in sweat, as if she had just been doused in water. H er
struggles eased, her bound hands rested against the small of her back,
as if in final acceptance of her pain. H er moaning and wailing
continued, but were growing feeble.

Luisa finally seemed to accept that the torture had proceeded far
enough. Closing the Pear, she withdrew it from Maria's anus, bloodied
and steaming. A short gush of bloody gore splattered to the floor
below Maria's spread legs, and her body shuddered, as if the life was
already ebbing.

�Execute the little whore,� Luisa growled.

Until now, Solana had not seen the long rope that swayed from a high
pulley. But she saw it now, and the noose tied in its end. As two
guards set about releasing Maria's neck and bound ankles, Solana's eye
s w idened. �No!�

Maria gave another groan as the guards dragged her to the rope. Unable
to stand on her own, she was held upright as Luisa placed the noose
over her head, tightened it around her neck. It was Luisa, too, who
went to the simple winch that would wind the rope in.

�Say your final prayers, Witch,� Luisa spat, and
turned the
crank.
Solana gave a wail as the rope tautened. Maria's head was drawn up by
the constricting rope, her lips parting. Inch by inch, Maria's small
body was hauled off the floor. The noose crunched about her slender
neck, and her eyes fluttered open. The guards released her bound arms,
and her bare feet scrabbled in panic for the flagstone floor, her body
twisting as she tried to free her hands.

�Let her down!� Solana shouted. Maria's eyes
bugged, her fa
ce deep
red. She was hanging by the neck, her bare toes a mere three inches
above the ground. She thrashed about, kicking for the floor, twisting
and jerking in the effort to free her hands. She tried to scream: an
odd croaking came from her open mouth. Sweat beaded on her brow.

�Cut her down!� Solana wailed, desperately
trying to free h
erself and
save the girl. But she could do nothing, and seconds became minutes.
Maria was strangling. H er body thrashed about. A line of blood
appeared from her nose. H er swelling tongue popped from her mouth, as
purple as her face. Solana gave a wail of horror. �Please, Luisa,
please cut her down!�

�This is your doing, witch.� Luisa hissed in
reply.

Still Maria struggled, though she was growing weaker. H er eye s w ere
wide, a long rattle escaping her constricted throat. H er toes still
searched for the floor, though her hand s w ere now relaxed in their
bondage, as if she had resigned herself to the inevitability of death.
A cascade of urine sprayed from between her legs, puddled below her
swinging feet. The rope from which she hung creaked. For an endless
time, she slowly swung, dying, helpless.

Finally, no movement at all. Maria dangled on the rope's end, her toes
drooping, fingers limp beyond her bonds, head tilted above the noose.
H er eye s w ere still open, the agony of her death on her young face.

Eleven - The Room

Solana was returned to her cell, and there slumped, chained, for
another week.

A guard came with her daily rations: Solana said nothing to him,
though he seemed kind. There was no hope at all in her eyes. More than
four months since she had seen daylight, or worn clothing, or breathed
fresh air. More than four months since she had known even a vestige of
dignity. Despite the imprisonment, the humiliation and degradation of
being constantly chained or bound, and despite the torture to which
she had been subjected time and again, she had never lost hope. But
now, with Maria's death, her spirit had broken. There seemed nothing
left, no reason to fight.

When guards came and unlocked the fetters that had become almost part
of Solana's own body, solid about her wrists for week upon endles s w
eek, she made no protest, placed her own hands behind her back as they
bound her. She walked calmly at their bidding, head down.

This time, they descended a tight, spiral staircase beyond the torture
chamber. The cave into which they walked was almost pitch black, cold
and wet. Insects clung to the slimy walls, water dripped constantly
like rain from the ceiling. Solana barely felt the icy drops on her
naked body. At the end of the passageway, a heavy iron door stood
open. Solana was thrust through by the guards. She stumbled, heard the
door close.

�Welcome, my sweet. Welcome to the Room.�

Luisa locked and barred the door, then strode forward into the vague
light of torches, shedding the cloak she had been wearing against the
cold. H er tunic was grey, ragged, its brief skirt skewed across her
thighs, her arms and shoulders bare. She offered the dungeon's key to
her sole assistant, a guard who moved to stand behind Solana. �Brin
g
her.�

The guard grasped Solana's bound arms, led her into an abbatoir of
horror. Chains dangled like vines from the ceiling. Central to the
Room was a rack, huge and dark. There were blunt spikes on its surface
to tear Solana's flesh as she stretched. On a long table nearby were
the other devices of Luisa's craft. A heavy brank, with calipers to
lever the jaw into dislocation, and screw s w hich, when turned, would
slowly skewer Solana's eyes. Thumbscrews, a Pear, a studded mallet for
breaking bones. Branding irons and long iron nails heated in a
brazier. There was a rough iron file for flaying skin, hooked pincers
for tearing flesh, a barbed whip. In the shadows, Solana glimpsed an
Iron Maiden poised open, spikes ready to skewer the unfortunate
victim: and, worse still, the �rail' - a sloping beam bristling wit
h
barbs and spikes, which she would be made to straddle, weights at her
ankles, and slowly descend - tearing away her most sensitive flesh.

H orror and dread stole the blood from Solana's face. H er leg s w ent
weak, and she collapsed to her knees, rocking forward with arms bound.
�Mercy, please, have mercy on me.�

�Confess your sins, and you will be spared.�

�Then I confess!�

�What?�

Solana wept openly in fear. �I confess to the accusations made agai
nst
me, My Lady. Just tell me what to say, where to put my name. I will
admit to it all -�

Luisa looked aghast. �You cannot!�

�Please, My Lady, I do! I will confess to
anything!�

Luisa looked to her guard. �But ...� A look of
despair. H o
w could thi
s w oman defeat her so many times? Solana had withheld confession long
enough for Luisa to relent and ask that she be set free. Then she had
toyed with Luisa's affection and dignity, rejected her advances. And
now, with revenge at Luisa's fingertips, Solana had offered
confession. Luisa's ice-blue eyes grew hard. �That means nothing to
me.� To her guard: �Put her upon the rack. I
shall do as I
wish,
regardless.�

�No!� Already broken, Solana let out a wail of
misery. But
the guard
wrenched her to her feet, propelled her towards the evil rack. Solana
screamed, hysterical with fear. With arms bound behind her, she tried
to turn to Luisa. �Please, I beg you, I beg you, have mercy on my
body! I am sorry for denying you! Please, I will do anything!�

�You will suffer, that is all.�

�Please, no!� Solana was truly frantic. H er leg
s w ere we
ak, her
eyes fixed on the awful rack before her. The guard was untying her
hands. �Oh, My Lady, no!!�

�Thi s w ill be my pleasure, whore.�

Nothing to lose.

Upon this moment, everything pivoted. Even suicide was preferable to
this. Driven by her panic, Solana exploded into motion, swinging her
elbow up-and-back with all her strength. She hit the guard full in the
face, his nose shattering with a sound like breaking eggs, his helmet
flying off. H e gave an awful scream, clutching his face. Solana spun,
driving her knee up into his un-armoured groin. She felt the
resistance of his testicles, heard the distinct pop of one splitting
as it was crushed. At once, he fell to his knees, eyes bulging, the
air driven from his lungs. Solana grabbed the guard's head, twisted it
violently. H er reward was the nauseating crunch of his neck breaking,
and his corpse flopped to the floor.

�Stay away, you black witch!� Luisa had drawn a
red-hot iro
n from the
brazier, and held it before herself as Solana turned her attention to
the torturer. Solana's eyes narrowed. In the dungeon, she looked like
a savage beast: dark, grubby skin and a ragged mane of hair, naked
with only her hands and feet a s w eapons, bared teeth and eyes
gleaming white. She stalked towards Luisa, who waved the smoking iron
in the air. �I warn you!�

Solana charged.

With an angry shout, Luisa slashed down with the iron: but Solana
ducked beneath the weapon's arc, grabbing Luisa's arm, wrenching it
downwards, twisting hard. Luisa barked in pain, and doubled over,
straight into the flying knee that smacked hard into the muscled wall
of her midriff. The air exploded from Luisa's lungs.

Solana seized Luisa's hair, wrenched her up. As strong as she was,
Luisa could not loosen Solana's Amazonian grip, and was unable to stop
the knee that slammed twice into her face. Blood blossomed at her lips
and nose. A third blow, and her jaw cracked. Given strength by rage,
Solana slammed her clenched fist again and again into Luisa's
unprotected face, until Luisa's resistance weakened and she finally
slumped to the floor.

Luisa lay, dazed and beaten, as Solana retrieved the rope that had
been her own bondage, and used it, instead, to bind Luisa's hands
behind her back. The bond s w ere tight, Luisa's hands at once turning
purple. Next, Solana tore away Luisa's clothing, stripping her bare.

�Please,� Luisa gurgled through the blood in her
mouth. ï
¿½Kill me
swiftly.�

�As you killed Maria?� Solana hissed.
�As you would
have killed me?
You ask for mercy, you who have hurt so many innocent women!�

�Forgive me!�

�Forgive you?� Solana's dark eyes blazed rage.
She stepped
back,
pushing her hair from her face, shining sweat. She glared down at the
helpless, bound woman at her feet, then looked about the room. If she
chose, she could torture Luisa horribly to death. But that was not in
her nature. When her anger subsided, she would feel remorse. And Luisa
did not deserve that.

She had a plan, but there was one thing yet to be done. Seizing
Luisa's thick black hair, Solana dragged the bound torturer over to
the brazier. There, she drew from the searing coals a shimmering, red-
hot iron. Luisa's eye s w idened in abject dread.

�No! No-o!�

But Solana's hand clamped about Luisa's face, squeezing her jaw hard
till Luisa's mouth was forced open. There was a brief moment in which
realisation appeared in Luisa's eyes, an expression of sheer horror.

Solana thrust the red hot iron into Luisa's mouth.

Luisa screamed horribly as steam billowed in a huge cloud from her
searing tongue. There was a hissing, squealing sizzling; and the smell
of burning flesh. H er muscular body convulsed on the floor in agony,
her hands straining at the ropes that bound them behind her back,
sweat beading all over her bare skin, her eye s w ide as the iron
ravaged her tongue.

Finally, Solana withdrew the iron. Luisa fell to the floor, steam and
smoke still curling up from her half-open mouth. Never more would
Luisa Consuela utter words; in a moment, she had become one of the
beasts, capable only of sounds.

When the cell door creaked open, the torch in Solana's hand lit a
ghastly sight. A naked woman dangled from shackles in the centre of
the tiny cell, her petite body oiled with old sweat, her head drooping
forward. As if torture had not been enough, she had spent almost two
months hanging by her wrist s w ithout relief.

Esmerelda did not stir as the cell door closed again, and Solana
dumped the dazed Luisa to the floor. In moments, Solana loosened the
winch, and lowered Esmerelda gently to the floor. The woman groaned,
but could not move.

�There is a key here, somewhere,� Solana
muttered, lifting
Esmerelda's
cuffed wrists, sorting through keys on a heavy ring. At length, she
unlocked the weighty shackles, dragged the confessed witch to the
wall. �Lie still, Esmerelda.�

Luisa, now, groaned as Solana forced her to the middle of the cell,
locking her in fetters still warm from Esmerelda' s w rists. In
seconds, the chains clanked again, and Luisa wa s w renched off the
floor. When she had been hoisted high enough, Solana locked the brake.
Luisa's beaten face was framed by her tautly upstretched arms. H er
nakedbreasts shone with perspiration in the chill air. The chain from
which she hung creaked slowly.

Solana returned to Esmerelda. �Can you stand?�

Esmerelda nodded weakly, her blue eyes searching Solana's face. �..
.
Tell me why?�

Solana smiled. �Justice is finally being done.�
She drew th
e hood of
Luisa's captured robe over her face, her features concealed in its
shadow, and helped Esmerelda stand. �I will have to tie your hands,
but it is only until we are outside the city.�

Esmerelda nodded, and held her hands behind her back for the rope. She
looked up at Luisa Consuela, who hung motionless by the wrists from
heavy shackles, her nude body drawn and gleaming. � H ow did you do
it?
�

�It was she who did it,� Solana replied softly.
�Sh
e craved her own
indulgence too much.�

The cell door slammed shut on the dangling Luisa.

Alone, Luisa now began to struggle, trying to free her wrists, trying
to twist her body about: but without leverage, it was futile. Sweat
glossed her naked breasts and belly. The terrible pain of her burned
tongue was now joined by the growing torment of the fetters about her
wrists, the slow ache in the pits of her shoulders, the gradual
torment of her own body' s w eight on her arms.

Slow sweat crept over Luisa's body, her bare skin greasy with a sheen
of wet. H er lip s w ere dry, all her strength gone. She moaned,
briefly, in the hope that the guards might come and lower her: but
there was no response. She knew already that even if they did come,
they would not recognise her beaten face, nor could she ever tell them
her identity, now that her tongue was burned away.

Slowly, her head sank forward onto her aching chest. She hung.

Twelve - Justice

The naked woman's bare feet slid in muddy snow, the breath from her
nostrils made huge clouds in the icy winter air. With hands bound
behind her back, she was dragged between two guards, two more in
front, two more behind, towards the tall stake in the Town Square. She
was gagged. H er dark hair hung ragged and lank about her bare
shoulders. H er face was swollen, discoloured from a recent beating.
She wa s w eak from having hung in chains for several day s w ithout
relief; and yet, she struggled, fighting with diminished strength to
pull free of the guards' icy gauntlets.

There would have been little point breaking free, though. The Town
Square was full of people, perhaps four hundred in all, come to watch
the spectacle. Though they parted for the prisoner, their shouts of
abuse were promise of what would happen if she fell into their hands.

�Suffer, witch!�

�Back to the Devil with you!�

She tried to catch the eyes of her tormentors, shaking her head
wildly, her gagged protests lost beneath the cacophony. H er struggles
all for nothing, they arrived: wooden boxes formed steps to a three-
foot platform against the stake, and it was up onto this that the
woman was dragged.

H er hand s w ere untied, her arms held. A heavy iron bracket was
placed about her waist, pinning her to the stake. The Executioner made
it fast with heavy nails, hammering each through eyelets in the hasp.
Next, her arm s w ere lifted high over her head so that she was all
but hanging, her wrists enclosed in blackened shackles that dangled
from a bolted iron ring. At once she was struggling to break free,
tugging repeatedly on the chains.

Below, other guard s w ere hurriedly organising spectator s w ith
armfuls of wood and straw into a line, so they could stack their fuel
about the stake's base. Without her tongue, the woman could only cry
wordlessly in rage and dismay, as the guard clambered down from the
platform, the place where he had stood quickly piled with wood for the
fire.

Nearby, on a short step-ladder, the Bailiff briefly read aloud a list
of charges, followed by confirmation that each had been confessed.
�The sentence upon Esmerelda Lopez, carried out here today, is to b
e
death by fire, that her soul may be purified.�

The woman shook her head wildly. I am not Esmerelda! I am Luisa
Consuela! But her crie s w ere mere bellows, and lost in the jeering
of the crowd. H er frightened face framed by her own lifted arms, her
nude body presented for open appraisal. The men looked on with lust,
the women with smug pleasure that this beauty would soon die.

The Executioner stepped forward, a burning torch in his hand, and he
gently touched the flame to straw at the pyre's base. Luisa reared
back against the stake, her eye s w ide in terror, shaking her head
madly, barking out her fear.

The flames spread quickly, licking up through tinder-dry wood, sap
crackling, sticks catching alight in moments. Luisa again struggled in
her chains, wailing aloud above the excited clamour of voices, as the
first cloudy swirls of smoke clambered past her face. She could
already feel the savage, horrible heat on her legs, and her dread drew
tears from her eyes. The crowd was devouring her fear, jeering and
calling, standing well back from the growing radiance of the fire.

Luisa Consuela threw her head back and wept. Slow minutes passed.
Terror ate into her, her body trembling, her heart pounding, the
humiliation of being reduced to tears and begging in front of so many
people more than she could bear. H er naked breasts heaved as she
sobbed, her hands curled around the chains holding her arms aloft. For
one desperate moment, she looked across the crowd, her eyes settled on
a dark face, framed by a coruscating mane of hair. There was no
triumph in Solana Degas' eyes, nor vindication: just sorrow that it
had ever come to this.

Embers rode the climbing smoke, and stung her naked body. Luisa
squeezed her streaming eyes shut against the pain, knowing that it was
just a hint of the agony to come. In cruel irony, a breeze from the
snow-covered rooftops briefly cleared the smoke. Gooseflesh peppered
Luisa's bare skin, drew her nipples erect.

Then, the wind died, and flames suddenly lapped up through the wood,
fluttering around Luisa's bare feet. She jolted, arched her back, her
eyes flung wide. It felt as if she had been slashed with razor-sharp
knives, and she jerked at her fetters. �Ohhhh!�

H er first cry drew a roar of delight from the crowd. The wind made a
brief return, blowing the flames back. She sagged, hanging fully in
the shackles. H er feet steamed. Trails of sweat ran down her ribcage
from her armpits, her nipples hardening again in the winter air. H er
mouth was a shapeless expression of ongoing pain, her feet hurting
beyond belief. She wailed aloud.

The wind ebbed, and the flames leaped again, enveloping her naked
feet, licking up her gleaming calves, curling black smoke. As her skin
shrank at the fire's touch, Luisa roared in pain, arched her back,
screaming at the sky. The flames rallied and climbed, licking at her
knees. Luisa bellowed, flinging her head side-to-side. Steam rose from
her bare thighs. Sweat glued her hair to her face and neck.

The crowd had grown quiet. Luisa's agonised yells echoed about the
town square, above the roar of the fire. As the stack of wood and
straw filled with fire, waves of savage heat drifted up. The helples s
w oman's skin was polished with sweat. Tiny blue flames skittered
through the fine hairs on her thighs. H ot air funneled up between her
legs, blistering her sex, steam wisping through her thick pubic hair.
H er screams became frantic, her struggles truly insane. But she was
held firm, and the fire grew. H er feet were now alight, flesh turning
to tallow. Flames briefly devoured her pubic bush, sputtering the
spider-trail to her belly-button, kissing her buttocks and the muscled
landscape of her belly.

For an endless time, Luisa screamed as her legs burned. Steam curled
from the wet curves of her proud breasts. The wind returned, but this
time merely served to guide the flames. They whipped and lapped at her
like scourges, flaying her back with their touch. The fire loved her,
enclosing her lower body, slowly licking at her. The hair of her
armpits steamed and turned to charred nubble. She hung helplessly in
the fire by her wrists, the bones of her feet snapping and popping
loudly, audible above her screams.

A moment later, the hair on her head caught alight. It was a brilliant
fireball, engulfing her whole face, and her scream s w ere truly
horrible. The tiny hairs on her lifted arms flashed away, as the
flames, roaring high on savage updraughts, completely engulfed her.
The crowd roared. H er leg s w ere burning, skin turning to oil and
igniting fiercely, while she continued to twist her torso amidst the
inferno, screaming, unable to escape the agony that assailed every
inch of her body.

She burned for perhaps five minutes, screaming, engulfed.

There were two loud thuds! as her pert breasts burst. H ot fat
scattered the crowd, and Luisa's screams trailed into a long, agonised
rattle, her face sheathed by fire. Still the agony continued, but the
only sound was now the roar of flames, the hiss of a burning woman. H
er struggle s w eakened, and, as minutes passed, ceased altogether:
from her fettered arms, she hung limp, feeling herself burn. H er face
was burning away. H er eyes exploded in bursts of hot liquid, her
melting features graciously veiled by smoke and flame from the crowd.

H er shallow breaths drew heated air, destroying her lungs. H er
nerves deadened by the fire, Luisa found herself almost without pain.
Blind, mute, she was aware only of the thunder in her ears, the
frantic beating of her heart as she hung by her wrists in the heart of
a roaring bonfire. In a final moment of lucidity, she knew that she
had succumbed without a shred of dignity, a screaming human torch.

Perhaps Justice had truly been served.

Solana Degas drew her cloak tighter about her shoulders. It had been
twenty minutes since the fire was lit, and report s w ere drifting
back that the Witch upon the stake had finally stopped moving. Even
so, she would be allowed to burn until her bones exploded and fell
from the blackened restraints, her ashes cast into the river.

In truth, Solana could not think of a more fitting end for the cruel
torturer. And for Solana, a new beginning. It was a long ride to
France, but Spring was close.