"The Saktish" by Emma-Jane C. Smith

As Sarifi walked away chuckling to himself, Niksa’s eyes flashed with a dangerous hatred. She went back to raking the leaves off the soft wet grass and imagined in her mind, how to rid herself of him forever. She knew that this would never happen and all her childhood dreams would come to naught. His power over her was a lurid landscape of darkness. He hurt her, he tortured her, and yet she could do nothing but wish to the moon, which rose in the sun’s shadow.

Niksa looked around her at the damp autumn leaves. They made her feel full of life, even though she was shrouded in another’s will. She always liked the autumn; it made her feel at peace, at peace with a hope that the future will aid her in her struggle for freedom. Only Sarifi could make that peace evaporate as he had proved again that afternoon. She dreaded to think of the next torture he would impart upon her. She shivered, the air had turned cold at her thoughts.

Sarifi prided himself on his possessions, the house most of all. It had been Niksa’s father’s house before Sarifi came to own it. Its stone walls were intricately carved into shapes by her father’s chisel. It had taken her father and his friends a lifetime to complete. There still lay however, one area that was uncompleted. Her father and all those who knew the craft of stonemason had passed away many years before. Only Niksa hid her talent, she could mould that last, final piece, but she would not do it whilst the evil Sarifi own it just as he owned her soul.

Niksa let out a sigh. She missed her father more deeply today but she couldn’t understand why. Perhaps remembering the past had caused it, those happy days when her father played hide-and-seek in the garden. She was the only thing her father had prided more than his house. To his mind, not even the great stone staircases rivalled the beauty of his daughter.

“Where have you been?’ Sarifi demanded as she entered the house.


“I had not finished the raking m’lord,” Niksa said respectfully as not to incur his wrath further.


“You will be punished for your tardiness later,” he flashed her a smile of pure malice. “Now go and help the cook with the meal.” Niksa nodded numbly. She was worn out. Something must have bothered him since he went inside. She could not think what, she had often wondered what her Saktish told him as he held it up to his black eyes. She put the question out of he mind, it would do no good to ponder on such things.

When Niksa served Sarifi his meal on the polished and carved wooden ceder table, she saw that he was caressing her Saktish. She watched as his fingers tightened their grip, his nails beginning to rake the stone’s surface. A cold shiver ran down her spine. The world turned into a blur as she braced for the punishment that was to come. Distantly a thought came to her, why was it always just before he ate? What sick thoughts crossed a mind as black as his? She could not even prove that these were her own thoughts as the world collapsed in on her mind. Distantly she heard laughter. Abruptly the laughter stopped.

The pain clawed down her back like four hot pokers, searing her skin. She was on her knees before she realised it. She looked up into the haze where Sarifi stood out clearly, staring into her eyes. A hint of a smile played on his lips. It was all she could do to not scream. She knew that if she let any sound escape her lips, he would feel the thrill of the pain and press harder, deeper into her Saktish.

Tears streamed down her pale face, his eyes were daring her to scream. She could bear it no longer. The scream ripped from her throat in a surge of noise, vibrating off the stone walls. It echoed through the house up and down the stone carved staircases. It lifted the very light from the room, plunging it into darkness.

When Niksa awoke, she lay on the hard stone floor in the darkness. She stifled a moan as he tried to rise unsteadily to her feet. From the corner of the room a dim light appeared. She crept towards it. This darkness had never happened before; she wondered how it had happened.

In the small pool of light in front of her, there stood a figure made of stone. It’s expression of pain and surprise chiselled into its features. There in front of her stood a stone statue of Sarifi. A single dim light emanated from something he clutched to his chest. It was her Saktish.

She moved her hand towards it, her hand shaking slightly as she did so. Her Saktish came away easily in her hand. What happened? She wondered looking disbelievingly at the statue before her. She held her Saktish close to her chest, comforting it with a gentle stroking. She whispered to it though she did not know if it could hear her, but she smiled as the glow brightened in response.

As the winter came to swallow the autumn the house of stone stood completed. In the garden where so many leaves had fallen, stood a figure made of stone. It stood there as a memory or perhaps as a warning to those who oppress. Whatever reason, it remained there throughout the seasons, watched only by the silhouette of someone in an upstairs room. One that cradled and whispered to something clutched lovingly to her chest.