Punishment Halls

Plantation life demanded no meager effort.

From before the first rays of dawn until dusk’s fading light, Enuill endured the suffocating heat, toiling knee-deep in the muddy fields.

Men, women, and children alike labored endlessly alongside him, tending to the crops that stretched towards the horizon. The merciless sun scorched Enuill's back, soaking their ragged shirt with sweat until the coarse fabric clung to their slender frame.

Their hands had already grown calloused from hacking at the soil with a crude hoe, or from sinking them deep into the earth as they did their part nurturing the demanding plants —yet they never paused or gave up to the hardships.

For as grueling as this existence could be at times, it still paled in comparison to the abhorrent hell they had been subjected to aboard the wooden fortress at sea —which they could now identify as a ship; though for Enuill the term floating tomb still felt more apt.

Here, there were moments where the lash mercifully did not fall, when the pangs of hunger eased with small but sustaining rations, and they could at least rest their weary body on a humble bed to call their own.

They did have a Master, and he did have a name, they had been told as much multiple times. A detail that was barely deserving of their attention —Master was Master, and that was all they needed to know.

Far more important than any of that was the embrace of Mammy Moonlight, waiting for them once the brutal day’s labor had finally ended. The name given to her by the pale ones was another meaningless bit they paid no mind to —for her moniker and the concept it embodied were far more fitting to her nurturing spirit.

Almost immediately after their arrival, Moonlight swiftly became the biggest comforting light in their shattered world. Around the night’s campfires, she spun the tales of her long, harrowing journey to this place —though its many nuances often eluded their young understanding.

Enuill knew she had fled the dangers from a distant land across the waters many, many years ago, carrying few possessions save the ancestral strengths imbued by her foremothers. Seeking refuge on these shores, she instead found herself bound to work just like they were, owned by a wealthy pale healer.

Despite all of the injustices they had felt all too well in their own flesh whittling down her spirit, the two children born during her stay there brought immense joy into Mammy Moonlight’s life.

Yet even that was cruelly ripped away from her the day her old master, seeing no more value in her, decided to separate them —their fates uncertain after she was deemed too problematic to keep.

It was a deep wound that reflected itself in her eyes during quiet, moonlit nights. A scar on her soul that perhaps would never truly heal.

That same profound awareness over suffering was the fuel for the determination and empathy with which Mammy Moonlight shielded both them and the other children from the plantation’s harsh brutalities. With gentle wisdom, she guided them through desolation —teaching them how to pull their weight around the quarters, how to avoid the ever-present threat of punishments, and most importantly, how to stay alive.

Defiance burned with fierceness in her deep voice, ensuring that their masters could never quite extinguish their innate humanity.

To the pale overseers, they might not be more than mere disposable laborers —a reality made plain each time newly stolen children, like investments purchased to reap profit from misery, were ruthlessly driven to toil alongside them no matter the bloodline.

Only compassion could break such vicious cycle, the same kind that was given freely by Moonlight, who extended her resilient spirit as a bastion of love against the corrosive lashes bearing down upon them.

In her tender eyes, Enuill saw a mother’s fury blazing, determined to keep the fire stoked within every child under her care. It was a light they couldn’t help but to end up fascinated by, its radiance shining bright amidst the many sorrows around them.

Naturally, Enuill found themselves drawn to every facet of Moonlight’s life, lingering long after the other children had nestled under the comfort of worn blankets, and drinking from the culture that they didn’t know had been withheld from them for so long.

They liked to observe the other dozens of slaves in the quarters, dancing around the focus point of the hounfour kept carefully under closed rooms, a symbolic tree trunk from which the spirits gathered and joined the celebrations —dark brown eyes transfixed by the ethereal currents that ebbed and flowed to the rhythms of crude instruments and swaying voices.

Enuill’s introspective nature never quite changed. Silent and distant, they simply limited himself to remain bewitched by the many shapes the Lwa took when moving in tandem with the music. It was not just the inky blackness they had always perceived this far, but a vibrant canvas of colors dancing alongside men and fire-cast shadows alike —fiery crimsons, deep indigos and flashes of blinding white all interweaving in chaotic yet harmonious strides around the Potomitan.

A keen perceptiveness to the unseen realms that did not go unnoticed by the other enslaved, and crucially, by Mammy Moonlight herself. They had grown accustomed to rejection for the qualities that set them apart, to the beatings his affinities rewarded… But this time, it wouldn’t be the same.

For she was more than just the nurturer of the children in their downtrodden community. Mammy was their Mambo —their priestess, healer and spiritual guide; imparting the ancestral knowledge carried over from her distant homeland.

To her insightful gaze, Enuill’s attunement to the spirit world that blanketed all of their shared existence was not a deviance from the natural order —it was a gift, a blessing with which they could decipher the meticulous designs of the gods, otherwise concealed from naked eyes.

Under her tutelage, they could finally begin naming the cosmos thrumming under the otherworldly energies. She taught them of the deities, too many to even start to count, yet ever-present and watchful over the natural world. Continually reborn, their immortal essence flowed like a great river through cycles of death and rebirth, their ineffable influence able to reside anywhere, even in the most mundane of objects.

While other children played, she imparted them secrets of how to honor and commune with the spirits of the dead, of their unique attributes and their cosmic alignments —and how chants and offerings welcomed their presence into their lives.

Enuill learned how to harvest and blend rare herbs, bones and other sacrificial remnants into healing balms and shielding charms, their proficiency and devotion to her traditional preparations awarding them knowledge into ancient remedies —and the warding and channeling of the forces lingering in the dark.

But she also cautioned them of the need to wield such power with mindfulness. While the Lwa’s blessings could empower and defend, their favor could also be turned towards malicious ends if guided by the impure intentions in which the evil ones fed upon. There needed to be wisdom when focusing one’s actions towards the aid of the community, never invoking the spirits where they could be used to bring harm.

Following her teachings, Enuill’s fledgling gifts blossomed over the span of four years. Their perspicacity towards the unseen evolved into a finely tuned intuition —a sixth sense that was just as perceived by their fellow enslaved who came to treat them as a spiritual guide despite their young age.

It was a profound connection that elevated Enuill to a place few could truly comprehend, allowing for the final coils of fear and uncertainty to fully untangle within them.

They understood their capabilities were a calling, not an affliction to endure. By embracing the world beyond the mirrors, they could become a beacon of protection —of healing and hope amidst their unrelenting torment.

That night should have been just another instance where others recurred to their or Moonlight’s aid in alleviating suffering. Little did they know then of the indelible mark it would leave behind to shape their future.

Saturday’s dusk loomed, heralding the impending day of rest for the overseers and their professed faith. While Enuill harbored no disdain for the religion of the pale masters, which preached principles of compassion not entirely discordant with the child's own beliefs, they keenly recognized its hypocrisy —with enslavers perverting their scriptures to justify the very cruelties they imposed. Still, many members of the community practiced their teachings, and the young guide remained receptive to explore them further.

Such evenings, however, granted them their few instances of tranquility. They meant scarcer patrols, allowing them for larger rituals and ceremonies to take place with diminished supervision.

As Enuill did their own part with the preparation of rites, they were approached by one of the many burdened men. Though names often eluded their focus, few were as observant of the plights afflicting those around him as they were.

Not like they needed to hear his story beforehand, the evidence of the trail he had followed was clear as crystal through the scars etched in his body.

His larger and muscular frame bore the brutal legacies of every punishment the pale masters could devise, so long as it did not impair his ability to work the fields. His back was a lattice-work of ruptured whip scars. Multiple branding wounds marred his body —not as a sign of ownership, but for sheer agony’s sake. His left ear was crudely severed, and between his legs was hidden a grimmer mutilation still —the overseers had subjected him to public castration some days before.

Now this brutalized figure presented himself before Enuill, mouth gagged by an iron muzzle to prevent him from speech or even the ability to properly consume food and water.

And all for the unforgivable offense of wanting to see his wife and children, from whom he had been separated.

That was the way of the masters —to prey upon any perceived weakness, be it family bonds or unity between the enslaved. They sought to isolate and subjugate at every turn, for they feared the strength that could be mustered if those chains were ever broken.

Enuill seldom spoke, their introspective silence a shell hardened over years of strife both suffered and witnessed… Yet they required no words to perceive the darkness festering within their abused brethren. The spiritual venom lingered to his side, accumulated anguish and sorrow simmering into a fury that threatened to boil over into something far worse if left unchecked.

Without the need to brace themselves, the young guide reached out with a tender palm and lay it against the muzzle’s scorched metal, its rusted steel imbued with the echoes of torment and resentment it had facilitated so thoroughly over years upon years. Their older brother did not flinch when their fingers reached him, for Enuill moved with the natural serenity of a tranquil river’s stream.

Such metaphysical toxins could not be tended with mere bandages or cataplasms. It was only by purging the taint with love and dedication that the tortured souls like him could hope to endure.

In a gentle nod, Enuill began the ritual by reverently lighting candles to summon the protective forces of the Lwa. Plain earthen bowls were filled with fresh rainwater and herbs, their aroma sweetening the cramped sanctuary’s musty air.

Beside the symbolic facsimile of the ancient tree, the unjustly condemned knelt along with Enuill, his frame swaying under silent tremors. Echoing the songs taught to them by unwritten tradition, whispered across mystical lineages, the young guide channeled the black undercurrents to cross over to their body —like shadow fireflies seamlessly moving through the night.

Under their dictated tempo, the ritual’s healing momentum intensified as they also began feeling lightheaded under the heavy aromatic scents of white sage and frankincense. As the two of them sunk their senses under the encompassing scents and sounds, Enuill expunged the corrosive attachments for their confinement —luring the dark energies inside a bottle filled with black liquid, keeping their unearthly calm as they swiftly and tightly sealed it under cord and rope.

Just undoing the spiritual burden would not be enough, and the iron restraints in his face began to creak under Enuill's fingers as they carefully manipulated them. They cupped the sides of their brother's face, allowing the cool current of the curated water, infused with consecrated rue and lavender, to soothe his dried and bloodied lips.

Their goal was to uplift their brother into a fit state for physical recovery to begin, and so they finished by applying pastes mixed by his own hands across the wounds—a soothing balm of aloe and calendula. It was a shame they couldn't feed him, but they feared that the gag could end up causing even more damage.

Trembling hands gripped Enuill’s own, drawing them close until their foreheads touched —Indeed, they were all beings bound together by shared agonies yet bound together through even deeper threads woven under the cosmic loom of starlight.

This was their purpose.

If they were able to pull the solitary souls back into the warmth from the void’s ravenous maw, even if it was one at a time, then their path would be one of persevering light amidst the interminable darkness.

In the culminating ritual, the muzzled brother finally regained control of his senses, tormented howls and chants giving way to shuddering gasps as catharsis reigned supreme for them both.

The phantom rhythmical thrum of ceremonial drums still pulsed through Enuill’s consciousness as they carefully tended to the mutilated survivor now resting in the aftermath of the healing rites.

They shared one final, meaningful hug; and then their attention was captured by the approaching figure of Mammy Moonlight, who had joined them along the way, accompanied by other members of their family, bright expressions adorning their faces.

Her gentle voice announced that they needed to take a respite from their usual proceedings, declaring that it was the turn of the season to celebrate their arrival into the world.

Enuill turned their head quizzically until the Mambo’s smile widened further. Though the two of them knew that the exact date of their birth would remain a persistent unknown, she had deemed that mid-summer evening as resonant enough with life’s cycle to enshrine their annual celebration of renewal, estimating it to be around their twelfth one.

Or in other words… She wished to celebrate their birthday.

With deft movements, Moonlight presented them a humble and small rounded care adorned with spare fruits and nuts collected by hand —modest adornments which Enuill tried to search for deeper significance, yet failed. This time, there was no profound or subtle meaning… It was simply a pure demonstration of her unbound love.

Enuill blinked a couple of times as their emotional core wavered. This night was about celebrating them? They couldn’t help but end up stunned, even when it filled him with an odd sensation, like the widening of their heart. There was the already known wetness of tears starting to form at the corner of their eyes —but this time, they weren’t born of sadness.

Were them really valuable enough to be commemorated? To have them honored in such a way?

Whatever further self-reflection they could’ve fostered was swept away unfinished as the slave quarters erupted into a tumultuous burst of energy. The cadence of feet stomping the ground echoed in Enuill’s chest, amidst claps and percussion produced by their body or spoons. The shaking of hollowed gourds and makeshift shakers joined the musical swell, overlaid with lilting voices raised in powerful melodies.

The bodies began swaying, and the feet shuffled in time on the hard-packed earth as celebration took hold. With the euphoric combination of fiddles and banjos weaving through the air, the music resonated in a primal rhythm, enveloping Enuill in defiance against the oppressive silence of the night.

While they had not only seen but also participated before in festivities like this one… It has never been at such grandiose scale of raucousness.

Enuill felt light-headed, the ethereal throbbing of distant drums and thick plumes of wood-smoke from the braziers casting everything into a hazy fever dream state. The earlier communion with the spirit realm was still to fresh in all the layers of their subconsciousness —their already acute senses growing even more heightened and over-stimulated.

Flashes of color began to dance around the people at the periphery of their sight —inky black shadows twisting in time to the beats, brushing and grazing all of their forms in intimate manners that no one else but Enuill seemed to perceive.

Some of the instruments and tokens fashioned from bones, feathers and other earthly remains were taken from the spots they were hidden, woven into their garments and wielded in the frenzied dancing. Strange herbs and roots Enuill had yet to know the names of filled the heated air with pungent aromas and vapors that seemed to seep into their very being.

Yet none of it struck Enuill as jarring or unsettling, who melted into the practices of their people made manifest as if it was their natural place —ignoring the rising temperature and the cold sweat wetting their back.

They just allowed themselves to be overtaken by the elemental pulses, clapping and stomping in ceremonial patterns that came instinctively to them by the persistent rattles shaking the thickening miasmas into yet newer forms.

Mirrored eyes peering at them from within the empty sockets of skulls; gnarled wooden visages splitting into rows of fanged maws; silhouettes of their brethren fragmenting into dissociated anatomy —they all collided in a phantasmagorical cyclone of sublime chaos.

Tendrils of vermilion smoke enveloped Enuill like a mantle, then erupted into billowing clouds that took fleeting anthropomorphic shapes before dissipating just as rapidly. They felt just akin to Papa Legba, standing at the threshold of mortal coils and grasping even further beyond the spiritual crossroads.

All the faces around them blurred and faded into the background as they became hyper-acute. The world seemed to come to a standstill, with both the shadows and the distant music conspiring to turn their unmoored eyes to focus on the entity materializing from across the veil.

It was a massive black serpent larger than Enuill themselves, undulating with a faint iridescent sheen like that of an oil slick. Its coiled form was easily the length of several men, thick as a tree trunk with overlapping obsidian scales.

As it navigated in a constant current across the slow-moving frames of their brethren, vague human skulls and eyes emerged from the ever-shifting scales before being subsumed once more.

Drawing itself up, the towering serpent’s six eyes transfixed on the small guide's gaze, the slit pupils gleaming in a purple glow as mesmerizing as it was suffocating. Its scaled coils tightened possessively once it reached Enuill's frame, constricting their body in a spiral embrace.

They could feel sharp spines of black metal grazing their skin, jutting randomly across the Lwa’s length as they curved wickedly, echoing the pulsations made by its muscular body with faint chiming.

Despite being fully prepared to be engulfed by the spirit, instead it seemed to contract and adjust itself perfectly to match their small frame. What was once a gargantuan viper now became a vaporous yet tangible second layer, turning itself into a living cloak comprised of constantly writhing eyes and spines —the ethereal fabric undulating and pulsing as if restraining something terrible beneath the surface.

Enuill could feel the penetrating coldness of the metal spurs sinking onto their spirit as the Lwa’s manifestation molded itself to their body —yet there was no fear; only a discomforting sense of transcendence as the spirit realm communed with their corporeal body.

Would they now be able to move and act as an extension of this ancient, primordial force? There was only one way to prove it.

Though seemingly no one seemed to notice anything different about them, or even the manner in which the Lwa veiled them from toes to neck, a collar of spikes stretching like fangs on the contours of their head —Enuill was lucidly conscious of the metamorphosis they had undergone.

And if they wished for anything in their current condition… It was to ease the suffering and liberate those who had endured the same torments as they had. What better target for their power than the very symbols of their oppression weighing them down?

Their sharp eyes fell upon the man whom they had recently treated, doing his best to partake in the shared jubilee despite the iron muzzle still clinging to his face. A dormant anger flared within them as they reached towards it, feeling as if their fingers were the very fangs of the Lwa being viciously unleashed against the metal atrocity.

It only took for their fingers to graze upon the rusted surface of the torture device —and in the blink of an eye, a hairline of darkness appeared over the unforgiving iron before rapidly devouring it in a spiral of emptiness.

Like a black hole consuming matter, the muzzle simply ceased to be —reality itself being rewritten under their will. Where the abhorrent gag had once inflicted its cruelty, leaving the man’s lips torn, swollen and bloody from its restraints, now only unblemished flesh remained. Raw gashes knitted themselves back together under Enuill’s influence, reforming the tissue as good as it originally was.

Yet no one showed any sign of noticing the supernatural occurrence —not those still dancing, nor the once-afflicted himself. Celebration simply continued filling the air, oblivious of the miracles he was now capable of performing.

It was as if the vile instrument of subjugation had never existed in the first place, stunning Enuill with realization.

Both the young guide and the primordial serpent coiling its otherworldly essence around them pulsed with eagerness, basking in the intoxicating first taste of the venom with which they could now reshape their collective plight.

One by one, they waded through the feverish trance-like state, allowing their newly-attained ability to attune with each member of the dance. Wherever they perceived tangible evils they could delete, Enuill reached out to heal and expunge them through the ferocious hunger of the void.

And so they all continued, filling the night with vibrancy and feverish energy in an anthem of defiance. Enuill didn’t realize it themselves, but they had begun smiling —an expression of sheer innocence that had been robbed from them for far too long; lost amidst the harmonies and the clapping building steadily into an overwhelming crescendo.

Until an abrupt, thunderous bellow shattered the rapture.

“What in the hell’s caterwauling is this heathen ruckus!”

The music and dancing ground to an instant, startled halt. Heads whipped around in shock and fear towards the source of the stark interruption —the silhouette in the crackling firelight where one of the plantation overseers stood; musket firmly gripped with face-contorting rage.

“Y’all think ye can carry on like them savage uprisers down in the islands!? Conjuring yer satanical witcheries and calling down evil spirits!?”

It was a disruptive voice dripping with hate, perhaps incapable of uttering a single syllable in their direction without overflowing crudity. Flecks of spit flew as he gesticulated wildly towards the gathered slaves —waving his weapon like an emblem of absolute authority.

“Ye niggers are all the same! No different than the dregs from the mountains! Ye think ye can do as ye please, dabbling in yer hoodoo and yer sorcery!?”

>> “Who’s behind all this madness!?”

To Enuill, who was still submerged in the undercurrents of their trance, the overseer’s ranting diatribe slurred and warped incomprehensibly as it continued. The disjointed words and obscenities flew over their head, as they didn’t even bother to parse meaning from the incoherent torrent of malice.

All they could perceive… Was someone in the way —an obstruction to be eradicated.

With bold, unfaltering motions, Enuill navigated towards the pale man. They felt light, the metal spines adorning their cloak clinking menacingly as their bare feet glided over the surface. Their body moved with the seamless fluidity of a serpent slithering through the people in its path.

Before the startled armed man could react, the young guide was already too close to him to be stopped, their empty eyes reflecting the oblivion that had reigned in their soul due to the overabundant abuse. Raising their small hands, they focused once again their will through their fingers, channeling the ferocity with which the Lwa had allowed them to delete all physical embodiment of their subjugation.

They wanted to undo him just as they had with the shackles and torture devices before —unable to care if he was a person or not.

Yet… Nothing happened. Their heart sank in place, as the darkness refused to swallow that man whole. Had the Lwa abandoned him? Where was the power they had employed so readily mere moments ago?

“Well, I’ll be damned…” The overseer’s speech cut off tensely as finished processing the small guide’s brazen approach, his harsh features twisting into an incredulous sneer. “Thought ye could wave them devil bones ‘n charms at me, didn’t ye, runt?”

In one abrupt motion, the musket rose and fell with a resounding thud —the butt of the weapon striking against Enuill’s upturned face.

A scream of both panic and anger pierced the stillness, Mammy Moonlight’s denial lancing through the dark night. There was nothing she could do now. It was too late.

“We aim to learn ye a lesson, clear and strong, ‘bout the consequences of dabblin’ in witchcraft. This here drunken brat will serve as an example!”

Enuill had only a single fragmented second to realize the weapon would strike them in the ground once more, the throes of pain detonating in their consciousness, leaving a muffled ringing behind. There was a thunderous boom eclipsing their senses as their eyes went black —nerveless release sending their body bonelessly down to the dirt.