by Ocean
She stood on a bed of furry, moist, green moss and studied the massive roots, like enormous fingers digging into the earth, that towered over her. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of thin vines hung in tangled masses from the tree’s thick branches, reminding Rosie of snakes reaching toward the ground. She shivered.
Engraved on the side of the tree was an odd symbol. It looked like a snake with a long-forked tongue and a triangular tail. There was a representation of fire and something else she couldn’t make out. It looked like an upside-down heart split down the middle. These symbols were all inside an upside down ‘V’.
She indicated to the mark by shaking her thumb toward it.
“What’s that about?”
The woman pointed to one symbol at a time.
“That indicates a snake. That’s the sign of fire, and that represents a cow’s hoof. It’s a symbol to ward away Satan.” The woman’s shoulders still heaved as she inhaled deeply and caught her breath from the bike ride.
“What? No pitchfork?” Devin said.
The woman turned her head toward Devin and furrowed her eyebrows.
“Why are they inside the ‘V’?” Rosie asked.
“The ‘V’ is the symbol of Diabless. She was the original Mambo’s mother. She’s the one who made a deal with the Devil and was given the powers that she passed on to her daughter. The ‘V’ stands for a woman’s–” She pointed to her vagina. “Papaya.”
“But why–” Devin started to speak, but the woman interrupted her.
“Enough of this. I don’t have time to give you a history lesson. Come on, let’s see if she’ll help us.” She made the sign of the cross, turned and faced the door.
There were three large stone steps that the woman easily climbed. Devin and Rosie, however, had more difficulty scaling them.
The woman’s knuckles rapped on the door three times.
A voice bellowed from inside.
“Enter at your own risk, and believe, that how you arrived will not be the same as when you leave.”
14
Will the real Mambo please
Rosie and Devin made eye contact but neither dared speak. Rosie’s heart thumped hard while thoughts flashed through her mind.
Is this a good idea? What if she casts another curse on us and makes things worse?
How can my heart feel as if it’s beating so fast when I don’t even have a heart?
Devin always looks so cool. I wonder if she’s feeling the same sense of panic that I am?
Her thoughts were soon banished when the woman placed a palm against the door and pushed. As the large wooden door swung open, it groaned, and the ancient hinges screeched.
The woman took a tentative step inside as Rosie and Devin attempted to peer past her legs. Inside, the cottage was dim. They followed closely behind her hesitant steps and entered the cottage.
Across the room, a fire brightly blazed inside a massive stone fireplace. Throughout the interior, candles flickered.
“Hello? Mambo Cielo?” The woman’s voice noticeably trembled.
A woman sat perched on a large, dark, wooden throne-like chair, her back to them, a black silhouette against the raging fire.
On its own accord, the door slowly closed behind them. Both Devin and Rosie turned and watched as the thick wooden barrier separated them from escape. An odd triangular burn mark on the back of the door caught Rosie’s attention.
The inside of the hut was earthy. The floor was dirt, the walls were stone. Octagon windows carved into the rock high along the tops of the walls and in the ceiling, allowed light to enter but, Rosie guessed, due to the height, discouraged wandering eyes from peering in. An assortment of neatly planted trees, shrubs, and what appeared to be herbs grew from the ground, bringing a sense of the outside to the inside, as if they were within a terrarium. Their entrance disturbed several tiny birds which fluttered from branch to branch, chirping loudly as if reprimanding them.
Along the base of one wall lay a long decaying log. Apparently, it provided a home to several rows of mushrooms that had sprouted. A movement caught her attention. A salamander bolted from beneath the log, pursued by a thin snake that wriggled silently after it. Efficiently, the snake captured the salamander and methodically went about the task of devouring it.
Rosie realized she’d been holding her breath. She exhaled and when she inhaled, the scent of musty herbs flooded her nostrils. It was as if she’d been dropped into a spice cabinet mixed with green moss.
There was a neat, orderliness to the space, despite the sensation of being surrounded by and immersed in nature.
At one end of the room was an oversized wooden table. The wood was thick, dark and gave the appearance of being aged. Leaves, feathers, and a variety of crystals and stones were spread in an organized fashion, as if someone had been making an inventory of them. Also, on the table was a large hourglass and an old-fashioned ink well complete with a huge black feather sticking up from it. A book, bulkier than any book Rosie had ever seen before, lay spread open in the center of the table.
One wall was home to rows of shelves that held a variety of jars and urns. There was an assortment of sizes, shapes and colored glass. The opposite wall, hosted rows of books. All appeared to be old and leather-bound.
In the far corner of the room sat a tall, black, cast iron cauldron. Beneath it, was a metal plate within which smoldered reddish, orange coals. Steam rose from the pot. Rosie figured that’s what gave the room the smell of roasting herbs.
She glanced back toward the snake and salamander, but all that was left was an ‘S’ shaped trail in the dirt that ended beneath the bookshelf.
“Sit,” the woman seated in front of the fire commanded, cutting short Rosie’s mental examination of the room. A hand lazily lifted from beneath the dark cloth of her cloak. It motioned toward a bench that was perpendicular to her own and also faced the fire.
“I’ve been expecting you.”
The woman who’d brought them there, obediently walked to the bench and sat. Devin and Rosie waddled close behind her and struggled to crawl up the wooden sides of the pew to reach the seat.
The fire, which had been burning fiercely, noticeably raged in height whenever the Mambo spoke, and returned to its prior level when she’d finished. It was as if her words breathed life into it.
Leaning against the stone mantel was a tall, sturdy staff. It was made from two thick, entwined, black sticks. An intricately carved head of a raven decorated the top. Bright red stones glistened in place of the eyes and the bottom was carved into the shape of a rattlesnake’s tail.
Rosie directed her attention toward the woman that sat in front of them. One of the first things that caught her attention was her chair. It was elaborately carved with exquisite details of images and figurines. It reminded her of the decorative designs on antique vases whose images detailed narratives of ancient legends. She could only imagine what stories that chair, and this woman, had to tell.
The Mambo Cielo turned and faced them. Her attention was riveted on Devin and Rosie, studying them intensely, taking her time to scrutinize every detail from the top of their head to their feet.
With a long, pointy nose and a small, thin chin, her bird like features were not unlike those of the Raven perched on the top of the staff. Dark, piercing eyes stared unblinking at them. Long, grey hair flowed past her shoulders. A triangular widow’s peak decorated the top of her forehead.
Her garb was a simple black robe. It reached to the ground shielding her legs, exposing only her feet which were tightly encased in black leather wraps. The billowy sleeves covered her arms and hands exposing only her fingertips, of which, the nails were painted black.
Mambo Cielo turned her attention from Devin and Rosie and directed it to the woman who sat quietly beside them.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“It’s my husband,” the woman said. “He’s in trouble.”
“He’s not in trouble. His brother is in trouble. No?”
“Or he will die,” Mambo Cielo said. There was a finality to her voice.
“Yes,” the woman said. “Will you help him?”
The outer edge of one of the Mambo Cielo’s eyebrows raised.
“And you want me to put the curse of the damned on his brother?”
“Yes,” the woman said.
Mambo Cielo fixed her gaze on the flames. They responded by growing in size and intensity.
“It is impossible.”
“Impossible? Why?” The woman’s lower lip trembled.
“The curse of the damned is not to be taken so lightly, just because someone got themselves in trouble. The curse of the damned was only used once by a Mambo. By the Mambo. And she soon regretted it and swore it would never be used again. It is now forbidden.”
The woman who’d brought them there spoke between sobs.
“Any curse then. Please, just place any curse on him. You have to save my husband. He’s innocent. He’s a good man. He–”
The Mambo held a palm up, and the woman quieted.
“It is too late. Guede Nimbo has already come and collected their souls, your husband and his brother.”
“No!” the woman shrieked. She stood and ran from the hut, her moans trailing long after the door had closed behind her.
They sat in silence, staring into the fire. When the cries of the woman had faded, Devin cleared her throat.
“Excuse me, Mambo Cielo. We’re, um, hoping you can help us.”
The woman kept her attention on the flames.
“Tell me what you did that caused you to be like this.”
Devin began. “Well, we were just two normal women, and we decided to have a picnic. So, we went to this island–”
“The cursed island.” The interruption caused Rosie to twitch.
“Yes. Apparently, it was a cursed island.”
“But we didn’t know it was cursed,” Rosie blurted.
“Go on,” the woman said.
“So,” Devin continued. “We had a picnic, and when it was time to leave, the boat wouldn’t start. A doll had stolen the spark plugs. And, well, before we knew it, the sun had gone down, and we were being chased by dolls.”
“That’s when we met these two nuns,” Rosie added.
“Ria and Naomi?” The woman spoke but did not move her gaze from the flickering flames.
“Yes,” Devin said. “Ria and Naomi.”
“But we didn’t know it was them,” Rosie said.
“Right,” Devin added. “They told us they were nuns that had vowed to God to help people like us escape from the island. We believed them.”
A thick gray rat scurried across the floor toward the Mambo Cielo, but she appeared unfazed by it. Rosie didn’t know if the woman hadn’t seen it or saw it and had chosen to ignore it. She opened her mouth and was about to speak when the rat paused in front of the woman, raised itself up on its back legs, and pawed at the Mambo Cielo’s shins. The creature’s tiny pink paws folded in front of its chest, its long, thin tail curled around its feet, and it sat back on its haunches. The woman bent down, gently scooped up the animal and patted it as one would a kitten. The rat circled several times before curling on her lap and contently closing its eyes.
“They made the change with you,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“Yes,” Devin said. “They lied to us. Tricked us and made the change.”
“So, now Ria and Naomi are in your bodies, and you want your bodies back.”
“Yes.” Devin and Rosie answered at the same time.
“Can you help us?” Rosie asked.
The woman pursed her lips, as if deep in thought, then her head swiveled from left to right.
“No.” The word was spoken so softly that Rosie barely heard it.
Rosie felt her shoulders drop. She looked at Devin and watched as Devin’s shoulder’s did the same.
“No?” Devin repeated.
Thoughts swirled through Rosie’s brain.
If this woman can’t help us, who can? Will we ever get back into our own bodies? What will we do next?
She swallowed.
“No? You can’t help us? Are you sure?” Rosie said.
“I’m sure.” There was the same finality to the tone they’d heard earlier. “But I know who can.”
Devin and Rosie both sat up straighter.
“There’s only one person who can help you,” Mambo Cielo said.
“There’s someone who can help us?” Devin’s voice was hopeful. “Tell us who. We’ll go talk with them.”
The woman continued to pat the rat and stare into the fire, as if either lost in thought or in a hypnotic trance. Silent moments passed with the crackling fire making the only sounds in the cottage.
Finally, she spoke.
“You need to see the Mambo.”
“The Mambo? I thought you were the Mambo,” Devin said.
“I’m a Mambo,” the woman said. “You need to speak to the Mambo.”
Devin turned toward Rosie. They exchanged a silent, confused conversation.
When the thought occurred to Rosie, she felt silly, ridiculous asking but had to know.
“You mean…?” She started but couldn’t finish.
The woman’s head unhurriedly moved up and down.
“Yes,” she said. “That Mambo. The Mambo that performed the curse.”
As if she’d been immersed in an ice-bath, a chill flashed up Rosie’s spine, ending at the base of her neck.
“Wait. Didn’t she die, like, three hundred years ago?” Devin asked.
The woman’s lips remained pressed together.
A leisurely nod was Devin’s answer.
15
It’s Mambo time
“Okay, so, um…If she’s dead, then how are we supposed to talk with her?” Devin asked.
Rosie imagined her and Devin standing over the grave of a long-dead Shaman, summoning her spirit to speak with them from the afterlife.
“You don’t mean we, ah, have to go to her grave and communicate with her there, do you?”
The woman shot Rosie a look as if what she’d just asked was preposterous.
“No. Of course not. She’s dead,” Mambo Cielo said.
“Oh, phew.” Rosie released a sigh. “Because for a moment there, I thought you meant we’d have to talk to a dead person.” A nervous chuckle escaped from her and with the doll’s voice that she now had, she realized it sounded rather cartoonish.
“Ouija board?” Devin asked.
“You need to go back.” The woman spoke the words as if she were explaining that they simply needed to go to the next street.
“Go back?” Rosie asked not really wanting to hear the answer.
“Go back to when she was alive,” Mambo Cielo said.
Rosie glanced toward Devin who returned the unblinking look.
“Oh no,” Rosie said. “No, no, no. It’s bad enough I’m in another body, in another country. I’m not going to another time.”
“Is that the only way?” Devin asked Mambo Cielo.
“It is the only way,” Mambo Cielo said. “Most of the spells and curses that the first Mambo knew have long been lost over the centuries. She was the most powerful Shaman, as she was the daughter of Diabless who was originally given magical abilities by Satan. I have only a small portion of the capabilities that Mambo’s years ago used to have. With each generation, our abilities have weakened.”
She pressed the rat to her chest with one hand and stood. The rat, unfazed, snuggled to her and continued to sleep. The Mambo took a couple steps toward the fireplace and reached up to a majestic vase that sat perched on top of the marble mantlepiece. She lifted the solid lid, carefully placed it on the stone, then gently pulled out what looked like several large pieces of rolled cinnamon sticks. She returned to her seat with them. Rosie wa
tched as she unrolled, one at a time, old pieces of browned and brittle paper. The pages were small, as if they’d come from a paperback book.
“These pages are all we have left of the original spell book. They were given to me by the last Mambo. And, when I choose my successor, I’ll pass them on to her.”
She caressed the papers as one might a newborn bird with tender, loving affection.
“There are only a few spells on here. No curses. Everything else, that used to be, is gone. Lost to time.”
“Wow. Real pages from a real spell book. Can I see them?” Devin asked.
Mambo Cielo handed the pages to Devin. “You can see them, but you won’t be able to read them.”
Carefully, Devin unrolled the first page and held it up as if she’d just unrolled a map.
“It’s nothing but symbols.” She handed the rolls to Rosie.
Rosie delicately held the papers, studying them before unrolling the first one.
“How sweet. A spell to banish sorrow,” she said. “Spell to heal an injured body part. Spell to fly? No way, this is so cool!” Unable to hide her excitement, Rosie was aware that her voice shrieked childlike but didn’t care.
“Rosie?” Devin said. “How can you read that? It just a bunch of squiggly lines.”
“I don’t know.” Rosie shrugged. “It’s written in perfect English to me.” She looked at the Mambo. “Why am I able to read this?”
“It’s magic. The letters rearrange themselves on the page to accommodate whatever language the person who holds the page will understand.”
“So, if I was from France, they’d be written in French?” Rosie asked.
Mambo Cielo nodded.
“Whoa. It’s like Google translate,” Devin said.
“More like artificial intelligence,” Rosie said.
“Then why does it look like squiggly lines to me?” Devin asked. “Why does nothing make sense on that paper when I look at it, but Rosie can read it perfectly?”
“I don’t know why. Only a Mambo descended from another Mambo can read the words. The spells appear to the reader if they have Mambo blood running through their veins.”
