Nyira and the Invisible Boy

by K. M. Harrell

  The boy sat there for a moment, with his mouth open, as if he had something to say, but couldn’t say it. Finally, he slid from the gate and landed on the floor of the stall, and sobbed.

  “I can’t run away,” he said, with heaves of breath. “Where would I go? They have taken me too far from my home!”

  Enriquillo sat down beside the boy.

  “I’m sorry. I hadn’t considered that,” said Enriquillo. “I don’t know what I’d do if I were too far from my mother and my people.”

  “I didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye,” replied the dark boy. “My mother and father, they… Are you a sorcerer?”

  “I don’t think so,” replied Enriquillo. “What is that?”

  “It is one who has magical powers. If not, then how are you understanding my language, and speaking it? We’re not allowed to speak our language here. But you seem to know it.”

  “I… I don’t know. I can do some things. But only Agueybana has magic.”

  “Who is Agueybana?”

  “He is behike in our tribe. He heals wounds and walks in our dreams.”

  “That’s like a medicine man,” said the dark boy.

  “Yes. That sounds like Agueybana,” replied Enriquillo. “Medicine man. He would like that name. And what’s your name?”

  “Pierre,” replied the boy. “That is the name the white men gave me when they brought me here.”

  “What is the name your mother and father gave you?”

  “Abiodun,” the boy replied. “I was born during festival. People were happy. But I’m not now, and never will be again.”

  “I believe you will be, Abiodun. You will be happy again.”

  “How will that be possible? I’m far from those I love.”

  “You could start by being free. That would be a good beginning.”

  “I can’t just run away. Where would I go?”

  “My people have hidden in the caves below the mountains for hundreds of years. I could help you.”

  “But I’d be alone.”

  “Yes. But you’d also be the first. And if you’re first, you will be cacique when others who escape come.”

  “What is cacique?”

  “He is the leader of the tribe.”

  “Like a chief,” replied Abiodun. “I’m too young to be chief.”

  “Are you too young to be free?”

  “No. I was free before.”

  “Then just go and be free, until you’re old enough to be chief.”

  Enriquillo began to work his shackled hands under his bottom and past his legs until they were in front of him.

  “Are you strong, too?” asked Abiodun. “Can you break those chains?”

  “No,” replied Enriquillo. “But I did learn a trick from Agueybana. He calls it: Small. I use it when I need to hide in a place I’m too big for. I’ll see if it will work on these.” He closed his eyes and held his shackled wrists out before him.

  Abiodun saw the shape of Enriquillo’s hands change, and the shackles just slid off.

  “Amazing!” cried the dark boy. “You are truly a medicine man.”

  Enriquillo stood up and began to climb over the stall gate.

  “Wait!” said Abiodun. “We’ll have to find another way out. The master’s big dog will be waiting in the stable yard. We could get out through the hayloft.”

  Enriquillo smiled.

  “No. We won’t need to. I’ll lead the dog away. Just head for the cane fields behind the stables.” He climbed over the gate and turned invisible.

  Abiodun let out a gasp.

  “You are a sorcerer!”

  “Just wait a few moments,” replied Enriquillo. “I will give a bird whistle when the dog is gone.”

  *

  Abiodun waited. After a short while, he heard the booming bark of the master’s giant bull mastiff; the dog quickly went silent. He wanted to run out and see what Enriquillo had done to quiet the beast but restrained himself. He then heard a familiar chirping, a sound that often floated out over the cane fields as he was bent hacking in the unyielding sun. He was afraid but started moving toward the stable door. The yard was empty when he got outside. Though the moon was still bright and cast an eerie shadow off the stables and onto the front yard—he could see the residence of Etienne Devereaux, the overseer. The house was small and white with a pillared front veranda—a tiny imitation of the master’s palatial quarters. It was less than thirty-five yards from the stable yard. Abiodun had a notion that cruel Etienne could see him through the front window of his house. He was suddenly gripped by fear and forgot everything Enriquillo had said to him. Where was he? wondered Abiodun. What if he had gone back into the mountains? How could he have trusted his fate to a horse thief? What was he to do now? He realized that all he needed to do was go to the overseer’s house, and say that the horse thief had escaped. They would blame him, of course. He was supposed to keep watch over him. Etienne was quick with the whip. But perhaps they would do something other than the whip. White men were creative in their cruelties. He didn’t wish to die in some of the ways others like him had been killed: feet chopped off and bleeding out, or strung from a tree and gutted like a boar. Perhaps it would be better if he presented himself to master Bissett. Though there was no guarantee that the master would save him from Etienne. Since it was obvious that the overseer carried out his barbarity with the master’s blessing. He was lost, irrevocably lost… but then he heard another sound.

  “What are you waiting for?” asked a voice from the left side of the stable. “Come this way. Let’s go.”

  *

  “You must go back, Enriquillo,” said Agueybana. They were sitting by a fire not far from the mother cave, as he applied healing herbs to the dark boy’s facial wounds. “This dark one says there was a hound. You must take the dark one’s scent away from the path near our cave.”

  So there Enriquillo sat, watching from above. He had taken some of Abiodun’s rags and placed pieces of them in fifty different places around the town. The hounds had gotten very confused. The only legitimate lead the soldiers had was that they knew Enriquillo was Indian and was likely hiding in the mountains. With that knowledge, they began a search of the surrounding mountain valleys. The trail was cold before they started. He just wished Arak was there hiding up in the tree with him. He always knew the right face or the right sound to make him laugh.

  He hoped to make a friend of Abiodun but knew the white men wouldn’t give up their property so easily.

  3

  The Mikoni village was a long way up the river. It took the warriors guiding the barges two days to navigate with her and the rest of the captives. As they approached the dock, there were a number of boats moving in and out of the area, each of them filled with people and supplies, and what Nyira took to be other slaves, as they were chained together like those in her transport.

  The village had no huts. Most of its structures appeared to be made of a type of green clay. But the roofs were thatched with flat reeds that made them look more substantial than regular palm. As she was taken from the barge, Nyira could make out the roof of a much larger building. It reminded her of the men’s lodge in her village. The roof was very strange; it appeared to be made of shiny material that she had never seen. It caught the sunlight and gave a slight glint. While she could see the large structure, what caught her immediate attention was the market they herded the slaves through. Nyira had only left her village a few times with her father, so this area was like none she had ever experienced. To her, a market was where farmers came to bring their fruits and vegetables, and the fishermen brought what they caught in the river. The Mikoni market had fruits and vegetables, too—although beside them stood strange men dressed in animal skins, and on the tables before them were displayed human heads. Some were shrunken, others appeared to have been recently removed from someone’s body. Nyira was appalled. Apparently, the men were trying to show what they could do. There were also people who were volunteering to be set on fire. A gr
oup of nearly naked men were standing behind a gentleman wearing a beautiful red, yellow and green pagne. This man was haggling with the customers. Once a deal was made, the customer was handed a lighted torch and pointed toward one of the nearly naked men, who allowed a substance to be poured over his head and torso.

  Further along was a giant crocodile wearing a diamond the size of a small guava, in a setting at the top of its head. It sat at the mouth of a large ditch next to the market. Nyira didn’t initially understand the purpose of this display, but a number of raggedly dressed young men were marched to the ditch. The men with them had spears and machetes. Once they were in place another man dressed in a beautiful Kente garment, stepped up and called for patrons to come and bet on one of the young men being able to retrieve the diamond. The lucky winner would receive the stone. As she moved past, Nyira made eye contact with the giant crocodile.

  I am Reyta, it answered when she asked its name.

  Why are you not in the river, Reyta?

  I’m not allowed in the river. I am a slave.

  I’m sorry, Reyta. I’m a slave, too, replied Nyira.

  I have also not been fed in a week. I’m so—

  A man came near with a long pointed pole and jabbed Reyta right behind her eye.

  “Get ready you monster!” he bellowed.

  They hurt me. So I must do as they command, or I will be killed.

  Nyira wondered if markets in other villages were as cruel as the Mikoni’s. She couldn’t imagine people going there to buy food.

  Along with the evil displays, the Mikoni market also had other live animals, like elephants and leopards and gorillas. She tried to slow down to see if anyone she knew was there, but the shackles on her ankles kept her in step with those in front of her.

  “Don’t slow down, child,” said a woman’s voice behind her. Nyira tried to turn around and have a look at the person. “Don’t look back. If we fall, someone will be whipped. That’s what happened yesterday.”

  “Since yesterday? How far is your village?” asked Nyira.

  “Don’t talk so loud. A long way. We’ve been traveling for a week.”

  “Oh, my! Is your family still…?” She stopped when she realized that what happened to her family probably happened to this person’s as well. “What is your name?” she asked instead.

  “I’m Benzia,” replied the woman. “I’m from Dotha.”

  “I’m Nyira, from Mael. My papa is… was the medicine man of my village. His name was Ahmed.”

  “I have heard of Ahmed, the medicine man from Mael. He was known for healing through your dreams.”

  “Yes. He was. And he…” Nyira paused, as a wave of sadness swept over her. She wasn’t yet accustomed to discussing her father’s demise with humans. Animals were much easier. They didn’t ask questions, nor wondered where you came from. Gord and his desire for revenge was the most human reference she’d had in months. She swallowed her unhappiness, and the woman didn’t ask her about her papa. Nyira was grateful for that.

  The slaves were marched through the middle of the village, past the square where the well and the baker’s oven were located. Nyira thought that perhaps someone would raise an alarm at seeing all these people chained together. But the Mikoni villagers, in their colorful, well-weaved robes and solid clay houses looked past them.

  “Don’t they see us?” asked Nyira.

  “No,” replied Benzia. “We’re not people to them.”

  “I must try to like them,” replied Nyira. “Papa said to start by liking everyone, and you’ll always find some good.”

  “Your father was a wise man, child. But they don’t care if you like them. You’re their property.” Nyira had no response to that.

  They were led to the lodge at the center of the village. The closer Nyira drew to the structure, the more wondrous it became. It sat on a flat green promontory surrounded by a steadily moving backwater off the Lualau River. It didn’t really look like a lodge. Not in the sense that it was constructed of wood. It appeared to be made of… gold. And there were various other gold creatures arrayed on the grounds around it, in postures of attack—some of them molded into the wall of the structure. The building was much larger than any dwelling in her village and looked to be a village itself. It was as tall as a mahogany tree and wider than five giant baobabs. There was a high barrier constructed around it, and a number of large, fierce-looking warriors guarded various points along the wall, each of them painted with the yellow, white and bright green of the warrior she encountered the night her village was attacked. Their spears were long with sharp four-sided spearheads. Nyira wanted to cry as she remembered what this weapon did to Gnangi.

  When they came into the huge front courtyard, there was a tall stern-looking young woman standing at the side of a cobbled walkway, waiting for them. She was as tall as Gnangi, about six feet, and dressed in the most beautiful kente garment Nyira had ever beheld. The fabric seemed alive the colors were so vibrant, and the weave was very fine. It fit the woman so well it seemed to have been woven directly upon her. But it was the woman’s eyes Nyira found the most captivating. One of them was a turquoise color, while the other resembled that of a panther. It was a deep golden yellow with the iris like that of the giant feline. Nyira couldn’t help but stare. She also noted that when she wasn’t scowling, the woman’s features were quite beautiful.

  “Divide out the women and children!” the woman barked to the warriors. “And what are you looking at, girl?” She had noticed Nyira.

  “You have a pretty panther eye,” said Nyira innocently, and smiled up at the woman.

  They were just beginning to unshackle the slaves, but the woman came up and snatched Nyira out of the group by her leg irons, and turned her upside down, like a fish she’d just caught in the river.

  “What did you call me?” snarled the woman. “Martolé, fetch me the cane!”

  A boy of about eleven, who was naked from the waist up, but wore a clean, bright pagne from the waist down, brought her a large bamboo stick.

  The woman tossed Nyira to the ground and started hitting her with it.

  No one had ever struck Nyira, so she was shocked by the pain, and felt a charge of heat erupt behind her eyes.

  “Ow! Stop please!” cried Nyira. “You’re hurting me! Why are you hurting me?”

  “Because I can!” screamed the woman. “And I don’t like slaves who look me in the eyes!”

  She got in a few good whacks, but when Nyira made eye contact with her, the woman stumbled and dropped to her knees, holding her head.

  “My head!” cried the woman. “My head! It’s going to explode!”

  Nyira had never been so angry, so she was frightened by the results of it. It was like a fire raged inside her skull, and she screamed from the pain. Even her tears burned.

  That’s when the big man with the skull brooch burst from the front door of the lodge and ran down the steps toward her.

  “Let her go, girl!”

  The panther woman howled in agony as she writhed around on the ground. Nyira didn’t know what to do; her anger wouldn’t let go—it was like a hand of fire gripped her skull.

  Desperate, the big man snatched one of the warrior’s long-bladed spears and dragged an old woman from amongst the slaves.

  “Take your eyes off my wife, sorceress! Or I will kill this old crone!”

  Nyira realized that this old woman was Benzia. Something in the old woman’s bloodshot yellow eyes, a twinkle of friendliness, allowed her to take hold of her anger and push it down. She turned her face away from the panther woman and ran to Benzia.

  When the panther woman was released from her agony, she got up slowly, took a machete from one of the warriors nearby, and raised it to strike Nyira.

  The big man, whose name was Chief Abdullah, took the weapon from her.

  “I command you to stay away from her, Vandella.”

  Vandella stood for a while, glaring down at the child as if her body couldn’t move on its own. Her f
ine kente garment was now as filthy as the slaves.

  “Go make yourself look like a chief’s wife,” Abdullah directed. Vandella was able to move then but was still glaring. So he stood in the path of her vision.

  “And don’t look upon her! Looking has nearly killed you. Now go!”

  Nyira was still crying. She had sat on the ground and had drawn her knees to her chest as she rocked and sobbed. Benzia sheltered her in an embrace.

  “He must see you as very valuable, Nyira,” said Benzia. “Otherwise, he would’ve let her kill you.”

  “I don’t know how I did that. I didn’t mean to, but when she hurt me, my head started burning.”

  “Well, I promise never to hurt you, little one. You obviously inherited some power from your father.”

  “Papa never hurt anyone. Now I’ve made that Vandella woman angry.”

  “She’s more than angry, Nyira. You have a lot to learn about being a slave.”

  “What have I to learn?”

  “For one, you should never look the slaver in the eye. I learned this when a boy was tossed into the river, for the crocodiles. His crime: he had given one of the warriors the evil eye. That’s how they make examples. So I’m afraid for you, Nyira. That panther woman has been made to look weak.”

  “What else?” asked Nyira.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said there were a few things. That was only one.”

  “The next is: you should never speak. Not ever. Because no matter what you say, you will get a beating…”

  By the time they were allowed to sleep that night—in a pile at the center of the courtyard—Nyira knew her mistake: she shouldn’t have given herself up.

  4

  Uncle Jaceux had staked out a small cave in the western mountains, which he decided to give Abiodun for his home. But first, he had taken Enriquillo and Abiodun to his lower camp and had his behike walk through the dark boy’s dreams.