Nyira and the Invisible Boy

by K. M. Harrell

  38

  The archdeacon had been visiting a prominent ailing parishioner on the Allard plantain. The wind and rain started as he headed back to town. Phillipe had only experienced one major storm, while he was on board ship bound for Saint Domingue. Luckily, they’d caught the tail end of it—but for half an hour, the rain had come down in blinding sheets, and gales pushed the vessel ten miles off course. It was a short duration, though he remembered the way the sky quickly changed with clouds that spat lightning like an angry deity. This was the same grey slate of sky. The clouds moved as if pushed by a vengeful hand. He slapped the reins on Peter, and the horse picked up his pace. He had been antsy when they got started as if he was trying to tell the Father they needed to hurry. The archdeacon wished he had listened. The rain caught them from the east as it blew in off the sea. Old Peter let out a scream and reared when lightning blew up a coconut tree near them. When he broke into a run, it was all the archdeacon could do to hold on. Although it seemed the faster Peter ran, the harder the rain came. It was a relief when he realized Peter had a refuge in mind: The Dugard property was right on their path. The archdeacon kept a tight hold on the reins and steered the gelding in the general direction of the manor house. That’s when he saw a tree had caved in the roof. He had also not noticed the water pooled a foot deep in the yard. A strong gust caught the carriage and tipped it sideways, and Peter took off again, dragging the archdeacon through the floodwaters.

  39

  When the first winds started, Nyira was in the barn milking one of the cows for butter to churn. Suddenly the front and rear doors slammed shut. This caused her to suspect tomfoolery on the part of the grooms.

  “Stop it, Stephen,” she said. “I have to get this milk to Nolwazie.” Then something slammed into the east wall. When she went to inspect, she saw a corral post poking through the wood. She knew the boys weren’t capable of something like that. Then the structure shuddered and shifted as if something was trying to lift and tip it over. She started toward the doors, but an object struck them before she got there. She wisely decided to climb the ladder to the hayloft and look out the door above. That loft door was gone, but she got a look at the storm coming, and the lightning firing from the black clouds, like doom come to life. She also saw the water from the rain and rising surf, streaming in through the crops in the eastern fields. She had to get out of the barn and make it to the manor house. It was about twelve feet off the ground, but she was more worried about the winds. Nyira climbed down the rope for the pulley, and the water in the yard was already at her ankles. Esmerelda met her in the kitchen.

  “Nyira, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Nolwazie. But I don’t think we should stay in the house. The wind is too strong.” Something smashed through a window in another room, and they heard Constance scream.

  “Where else can we go?”

  “Where is Father Reyes?”

  “He’s in the parlor with Constance and Madame.”

  “Ask him to take Constance and Madame and the rest of the servants to the sugar mill up on the hill.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry this happened on your twelfth birthday, Nyira.”

  “It’s all right, Nolwazie. We must get through this, and that will make it a good birthday.” She headed back out the door.

  “Where are you going? It’s dangerous out there!”

  “I must find Claude and the stable boys before it gets too bad.” A huge object slammed into the house. When Nyira stepped out into the driving wind, she saw the massive old coconut tree that had stood near the veranda to the kitchen had fallen on the roof. She ducked just in time as an object flew past her head. The shovel that always leaned against the chicken coop lodged itself in the wall of the back veranda. All the chairs that had once sat there were gone, and the left support beam was cracked and off its base. This made the veranda lean to the left a bit. The rising water was already up over the first step to the veranda. Nyira was happy to see Claude moving slow but determinedly toward the manor house.

  “Have you seen Esmerelda?” he asked.

  “She’s still in the house.” Just then, the chicken coop, with chickens still squawking inside, sailed past them. It caromed off the veranda and took out the broken support beam. This caused the roof to shift.

  “Claude, please go in and help Esmerelda and Father Reyes get everyone to the sugar mill. It’s more solid.”

  “I know, Camille. But where are you going, girl?”

  “I will try to find Diego and the other stable boys.”

  “I don’t think that’s wise, child. The water is rising too quickly.”

  “I will be careful, Claude. I have to try. Please go and help Madame.” They heard Esmerelda call from the veranda.

  “Claude! Let her go! She will be fine! Help us, please!” Esmerelda and Father Reyes were carrying Constance. Something had struck her on the head. Madame and the rest of the household servants followed. Claude raced up the steps. The sugar mill was a quarter mile up the hill, and the rising water was already at Nyira’s knees. That’s when she witnessed a sight as good as magic: Two Taíno canoes floated into the yard as if Enriquillo himself had provided them, which in fact he essentially had. They were obviously those the Taíno hid in the jungle near the beach. She pushed one toward the veranda where Claude could find it, and got in the other and paddled toward the stables. The boys were probably holed up there for safety. When she got to the structure, it too had been struck by a fallen tree. The tree had hit the rear of the building, and she could still hear animals trapped inside.

  “Diego!” called Nyira. “Are you in there?” Diego and a younger boy named Martime stuck their heads out a small window on the top level.

  “Yes,” said Diego. “Everyone but Stephen is here. But we can’t get out. Something is blocking the door to the loft.”

  “I’ll see if I can remove it.” She paddled into the stables. The heat and stink of the animals’ fear was as thick as smoke, and Nyira found it hard to breathe. She let out as many of them as she could; she felt they would have a better chance outside. She saw that a small beam had been broken when the tree hit the roof and wedged itself against the trapdoor to the loft. Moving it was a risk, but if she didn’t the structure might collapse with the boys inside. She concentrated all her energy on the piece of wood, and it shifted. The boards around it were also unstable and threatened to cave in the whole framework.

  “I have moved it, Diego! Please come out, before it all comes down!” They pushed open the door and the boys scrambled out. Diego was last, making sure all the younger children made it out first. The canoe could only hold five of the nine boys.

  “I will get the small ones to the sugar mill,” Nyira told Diego. “You will have to make your way there with the rest of them on foot.” The wind was roaring, and they couldn’t see that well through the towering wall of rain. Suddenly a horse came barreling toward them, and it was dragging a capsized carriage through the water behind it. Nyira put out her right hand, and the creature stopped cold.

  “This is the archdeacon’s carriage!” said Nyira. “Diego, quick! Check it!” Diego dipped under the water.

  “Nyira! The archdeacon is trapped inside!” cried Diego, when he surfaced. “We must tip it up.” All the boys that were tall enough grabbed the vehicle and pushed. The water held it fast.

  “Move back,” said Nyira. I’ll bring it up. She put out her right hand, and the carriage rose out of the water and sat on its wheels. The archdeacon was unconscious. Nyira climbed in and touched his chest.

  “He’s still breathing. Let’s get him to the mill.” They left the archdeacon in the carriage. The other boys climbed in as well, as Diego sat at the reins. The boys in the canoe used boards that were floating in the water to paddle in the carriage’s wake. As they made their way, they came upon a gruesome sight: Josephine Mallet, the household manager, floated face-up past them. Something had caved in the side of her skull. Nyira let out a cry and dropped her paddle as sh
e tried to get to the woman. The boys in the canoe had to stop her.

  “Please, Nyira!” they implored. “We can’t help her. We must get to the mill.” Still crying, Nyira picked up her paddle again. They passed four more bodies along their path. Apparently getting to the mill had been more difficult than Nyira expected. When they reached the high ground, Diego and the boys carried the archdeacon through the front door of the mill. There were more injured when they got inside. One of the most severe was Esmerelda.

  40

  The seawater covered the road and was rising steadily.

  “Monsieur Bissett,”said the mounted police captain. “We will not make it back to your property. We need to find high ground.”

  “I don’t know, captain,” replied Bissett. “I’m afraid I will lose this slave before he can be properly punished.”

  “Never fear, monsieur. We have him in irons. There’s no place he can go in a storm like this.” An object flew by the captain’s head, taking out the trooper to his left. “We must get out of this wind, quickly.”

  “I know a large tall tree not far from here,” said Bruno.

  “What kind of tree, slave?” asked Bissett.

  “A giant elm, at the edge of your property. It’s the best chance we’ve got at this point.”

  “You know this area, Christian?” asked the captain. “He wouldn’t have a sentry set up there?”

  “No, captain. The only men that came down the mountain with him are here now. I made sure of that.”

  “I guess we can try it then,” said the captain. “We don’t really have a choice. Lead the way, slave.”

  “You’ll have to take the leg irons off,” said Bruno. “So I can walk.”

  “All right,” said the captain. “Take the irons off him. But if he makes any move to get away, shoot him.”

  “Don’t worry, captain,” said Bruno. “I have no desire to escape.” They set off with troopers in front using machetes on the thick foliage. The wagon wasn’t really suited for the jungle, but they made much better time away from the muddy seawater of the road. The deeper they got into the jungle, the thicker the foliage became. When they were about halfway through, the horses and the wagon got stuck in a swampy bog. The horses panicked and tried to turn, which flipped the wagon and tossed everyone into the muck. Bissett was furious.

  “You did this on purpose!” he screamed as the mounted police pulled him and the others from the sinking mud. When he got to his feet, he snatched the whip on his hip. Bruno didn’t try to shield himself and just stood looking at the old man. The whip was ineffective anyway, as it got caught in the dense branches and vines. Bissett only succeeded in looking more helpless as he wrestled with the worthless item. He finally gave up and leaned wet and exhausted against one of the cedar trees.

  “I’d shoot you if I didn’t intend to sell you,” he said.

  “I don’t see how this is my fault,” said Bruno. “I didn’t make it rain. I’m trapped out here, too. We’re all going to drown if we don’t get to that tree.”

  “We’re going to have to walk the rest of the way, monsieur,” said the captain. “The wagon and horses won’t make it through all the bogs in here.”

  The mounted troops dismounted and released their horses. The rain and wind had picked up, but the jungle’s thick canopy and dense foliage shielded them somewhat. The water was still rising, but they seemed to be traveling uphill, and it was only at their knees. A half an hour into their forced march, they lost their second mounted trooper. They had been trying to cross what once had been a quiet little stream, with a footpath of small boulders laid by the Taíno, to sit upon and fish. It was now a raging torrent, and one man fell into it when he lost his footing on the rocks.

  “There is normally a small trail here,” said Bruno, as they made it to the bank. “But I recognize these trees. It’s not too much further.” Bissett did not look well, and the strain of moving against the force of the water and driving wind was taking a toll on him. He’d already collapsed once, and would’ve been swept away were it not for one of the runaways getting his hands on him. The water was at their waists now. Two mounted troopers held him up.

  “I would like to make a request, captain,” said Bissett.

  “What is it, monsieur?”

  “I would like the use of a pistol so that I might execute my slave now. I don’t believe I will make it to that tree.” André was suddenly distressed.

  “Wait! I didn’t mean it!” he cried. “It was an accident!”

  “Hold him!” said the captain. Three troopers took hold of André as the captain handed Bissett his pistol.

  41

  Enriquillo saw the bodies of four runaways with rifles when he made it to the camp. They had obviously been holding off the troopers so the others could escape. There were three dead troopers as well. Someone had attempted to burn the structures, but the wind and rain had snuffed it out. They had made their escape through the dense forest, which made it hard to pursue them on horseback. As Enriquillo searched the forest, he saw horses wandering loose. There were more dead runaways along the way, as they fought while retreating. He discovered about twenty horses tied as a group in a small copse of trees. The troopers were on foot. He heard weapons fire nearby. As he moved cautiously through the bush, he came upon another dead runaway. This one only carried a long bow with twelve arrows in a manati skin quiver. It had been a gift presented to Bruno along with the hammock and duho stool. The bow gave him an idea about how he might get through the attacking line of troopers. He wouldn’t have much accuracy from distance with the winds, but he didn’t need distance. The gunfire was close. As he came over a rise that led into a small gulley, three troopers guarded five runaways. Two others lay dead. One trooper was executing those lying wounded on the ground nearby.

  “No use taking wounded,” the trooper said.

  Enriquillo set up behind a tree about five yards away. He hit the first guard in the center of his chest. “Near the heart,” as Camaguey had instructed. The man let out a gasp and went down. When the executioner turned around, his heart was available, too. The third trooper, witnessing the invisible attack, must have assumed they were surrounded because he ran. One of the runaways picked up the first trooper’s weapon and shot the fleeing trooper in the back and then shot the executioner again when he moved. Enriquillo walked over to the first man he’d shot and looked down at him. He didn’t know how he was supposed to feel. This was the first white man he’d intentionally killed. But the man made a sound and turned over. He was bleeding badly, and the arrow had broken off when he’d fallen. The trooper looked at him. He had eyes the color of the water in the secret cove. The man reached out, and his face was anguished.

  “Water,” the trooper said. “Give me water.” Enriquillo didn’t like this. This man hadn’t hurt him, and yet he’d caused him pain. “Water!” he cried again. He didn’t know what else to do, so he rushed around the camp, searching for a gourd or a canteen. By the time he found one, he heard a shot. When he ran back to the trooper, he was already dead. Finished off by one of the runaways. A boy about Kaci’s age and size, with angry eyes.

  “Next time, kill them better,” the boy snarled at him. Three of the surviving runaways gathered up the troopers’ weapons and went in pursuit of their comrades. The others stayed to strip clothing and shoes from the bodies. Enriquillo didn’t want to look at the other trooper he’d shot, for fear he might still be alive, too. He would have to answer for them before he could enter Coaybay. Something strange twisted in his stomach, and his head felt like it was coming off his neck. He bent over and everything he had eaten that day came out of his mouth. He didn’t feel good. What was happening to him? Was this the sickness of those who’ve killed? He wanted to sit down, as his strength seemed to be seeping out of him. He had to get away from here. Then he heard a cry from the bush:

  “Someone help us, please!” It was a woman’s voice, and it sounded familiar. He searched through the forest until he discovered
them hidden under some blown brush and broken branches. When he moved it aside, he found Juliette holding onto Yiella, who’d been shot in the shoulder.

  “How did you get here so quickly?” he asked.

  “I have a horse. When I heard the drums, I came to find her. I was almost too late. We hid when we heard the troopers coming, but she got hit anyway.”

  “We must get her to a cave before the storm catches us,” said Enriquillo. He asked one of the remaining runaways to help them get Yiella on the horse. “You should get on too, Juliette. The cave is further down the mountain.”

  “We need to hurry,” said Juliette. “She’s bleeding a lot.” Enriquillo took one of the trooper’s horses and led them to a small cave hidden within a group of large boulders. It was along the route of a Taíno shortcut over the mountains. He’d only learned of it from Jaceaux in the last year. He helped Juliette down, and they both took Yiella from the horse. She was very weak, but Enriquillo had learned some wound cleaning and bandaging techniques from Nyira. There were pots and a supply of water in the cave. They made a fire to heat the water. Enriquillo went out and found herbs he had seen the girl use to heal the wounded on that first night in Bruno’s camp.

  “I have to go and help the rest of the Bruno’s men get away,” he told Juliette.

  “Thank you, Enriquillo,” said Juliette. “I can manage it from here. I’ve learned some things from Nyira, too.” He rode hard to get back quickly. He found the last three runaways hiding in the jungle near the camp.

  “You’re the invisible Indian boy,” said the boy with angry eyes. “You can sneak in closer than we can. Can you shoot one of these?” He handed Enriquillo one of the flintlock pistols.

  “No,” said Enriquillo. “I prefer the bow.”