Altaica

by Tracy M. Joyce

  ‘We will find land.’ Nicanor was resolute.

  Daniel was ready to explode. ‘What gives you the right to criticise our decisions? You had your chance months ago. None of you had a plan. None of you had any ideas for saving your families. You were happy enough to leave the thinking, the planning and the work to others, and now you want to complain!’

  Curro placed a restraining hand on Daniel’s shoulder and whispered, ‘Let Nic handle this.’

  Nicanor ran a hand through his hair, inhaling deeply, drawing up all the patience and resolve he could muster. He couldn’t let this turn into violence only a few days into their voyage; they would self-destruct. He could see them fighting each other every inch of the way. Nicanor was determined these men would see reason—they had to. Abruptly he felt a wave of calmness sweep over him, his fist unclenched and his shoulders relaxed. He felt detached, yet more able to read the body language of those around him. He noticed the other man’s eyes dart to a woman and child in the crowd; he saw the anxiety on their faces. He could read the man’s fear that he had doomed his family and could see his uncertainty. Nicanor knew the path he must take.

  ‘If we do as you say—if we don’t ration our food, if we row and row—we use up our food and water fast. So we must find land fast. The current is against us. The wind has always been against us. Your course of action might, just might work, if we had more men and supplies. But more than half our number is women and children.’

  Deliberately, he glanced at the man’s wife and child, drawing his attention back to them. ‘If we ration our food and follow the breeze and current, we give ourselves more time, we cover more area and we will increase our chance of landfall. More time gives us more chances. Gives them a chance.’

  The man looked at his wife and child, his shoulders sagging as the fight left him. He nodded.

  ‘We are all agreed then?’ Nicanor’s eyes roved the entire gathering searching for dissent. ‘Now is the time to voice any other doubts.’

  They dispersed, some shaking their heads despondently.

  Nicanor whispered to Curro, ‘Guard the supplies. Night and day one of us must be awake and the others should sleep with their weapons. Gods willing, we won’t need them.’

  ‘Gods willing … We seem to have a lot riding on the whims of the gods.’

  ‘Yes, so now is not the time to lose your faith.’

  Lucia stepped into Nicanor’s embrace as he watched the disgruntled crowd return to their places. Lucia and Pio were his world. He would do anything to keep them from harm. Lost in his thoughts he realised too late that Lucia was talking quietly to him.

  ‘Nic, Nic?’

  He smiled apologetically.

  ‘We can only do our best, and you have been doing it. They would already be dead if it wasn’t for this plan. We’ll survive. But right now I need you to do something for me.’ He looked quizzically at her. She lowered her voice and continued. ‘It’s Isa. Pio is worried about her. After this, so am I. You heard them.’

  ‘Yes, that surprised me too. How can they say she is not one of us?’ He shook his head, trying to banish darker thoughts. ‘Tell me Pio’s idea.’

  ‘He had a suggestion, a good one. Is there anything from which you can make a walking stick for her?’

  ‘Yes. It’s an excellent idea. She may need it as a weapon before long.’ With Lucia still entrapped in his arms, he bent his head and tenderly kissed her. ‘You know how much I love you, don’t you?’

  With a grin, she replied cheekily, ‘Almost as much as I love you.’

  He laughed. ‘I suppose I deserved that. Lucia, can you keep an eye on Isa? Pio is right to worry about her and not just because of that lot. Something is wrong. Have you noticed how much she sleeps?’

  ‘We will. But make the stick, it will give her back some independence. That might go a long way to helping her.’

  He nodded. His wife was, despite everything, as practical as ever.

  As he wandered off to set to his task, she thought, And it will give you something to do other than dwell on what-ifs.

  CHAPTER SIX

  GABRIELA STOOD AT the ship’s bow and laughed. The deck of the barge resembled a laundry house; clothes and belongings were hung or draped over ropes and cargo as they dried in the sun. People had firmly claimed their own spaces and set up home. She was still situated next to Daniel and Jaime. She felt guilty about Daniel. It was clear that her and Jaime’s growing closeness was slowly torturing him, especially in the confines of the ship.

  Gabriela felt a presence at her back before Jaime tentatively touched her shoulder. He smiled—something good had come from all this upheaval—they were together. He slipped his arm around her waist, placing a gentle kiss on her neck as she leaned back into him.

  ‘I wonder how my parents are. If they are even still alive,’ she said.

  His arm tightened around her. ‘Stop. They wanted you safe. Wondering is pointless.’

  ‘All that time not thinking about the future. Now all we’ve got is time; at least some time.’ She couldn’t see his grimace. ‘I feel guilty even saying this, but I feel more free now than I ever have. How on earth could I feel trapped by caring for my own parents? My parents who raised and loved me—who made sacrifices for me. I was relieved to get on this boat. Gods, I am so ungrateful.’

  ‘Never, Gabi.’ Jaime cupped her face in his hands and gently kissed her, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. She clung to him as she drew in shuddering breaths, attempting to control her sobbing. He enfolded in his arms, crooning to her. ‘Gabi, just let go. Let it all out. Everything will be all right.’

  Daniel sat beside Nicanor, as he carved Isaura’s walking stick, yet his gaze repeatedly strayed to Jaime and Gabriela.

  ‘That won’t do you any good, you know,’ Nicanor said quietly.

  Daniel ducked his head. ‘It’s a bit hard not to.’

  ‘Dan, she’s not the girl for you. Oh, Gabi is sweet, pretty and honest, but she’s not for you. She brings out the best in Jaime—he’s matured, less selfish now. You’ve always been a joker like your brother, but you’re more insightful, more serious; your jokes hide your deeper side. You need a girl who sees beyond the jokes into here.’ He stopped carving and firmly pushed two fingers into Daniel’s chest.

  ‘Since when did you get so wise?’ Daniel said.

  Nicanor shrugged, returning to his to work. ‘I just thought now you would be ready to listen. When we get off this boat, you make your own life.’

  * * *

  Isaura leaned wearily on the railing where Lucia had left her. She found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. It took all of her energy to get around to help people, even with Lucia’s aid. Angry and frustrated, her thoughts circled around her failure to help them; her mother would surely have done better. Isaura cursed her overactive conscience and sense of duty. She should have left years ago, but that smacked too much of running away. Isaura knew dwelling on such things was futile, yet there was no escape. Thank the gods she slept so much.

  Pio bounded up to her, followed by Lucia. ‘Papa made you a walking stick!’

  Isaura reverently took the stick from him. Nicanor had carved it out of a piece of dark wood. The stick was just the right height and the hand piece was carved as the arching neck and head of a horse. Isaura was speechless, her eyes welled with tears. Pio, startled, looked to his mother for reassurance. Lucia nodded and smiled at him, then calmly enfolded Isaura in a hug. Pio grinned, trying to wrap his arms around them.

  Lucia gently whispered, so Pio could not hear, ‘Isa, it’s all right. We love you.’

  This was nearly Isaura’s undoing. However, remembering Pio was there, she lifted her head, smiling. ‘If not for you … thank you.’

  Lucia hugged her a little tighter. ‘Isa, for now, rest.’

  ‘I can’t. I need to replenish my bag.’

  ‘We’ll help.’ Pio took Isaura’s bag, carrying it with both hands. He led the way back to the cabin, turning now and then
to watch her progress. Lucia walked beside her in case she fell. Each halting step increased her confidence in the stick.

  ‘Keep going, Isa!’ Pio grinned at her. For the first time in days she grinned back. By the time they reached the cabin, she was desperate to sit down.

  ‘What do you need?’

  ‘Everything,’ Isaura replied with a sigh. ‘Just pass me jars and I’ll resupply the bag.’

  Pio placed the bag on the bench seat next to Isaura. As he turned away the bag fell and vials, small jars and bandages littered the floor. A leather pouch poked out of the bag. Isaura’s eyes darted to it protectively.

  ‘Sorry, Isa!’ While Pio gathered up the scattered contents, Isaura snatched up her bag and quickly shoved the pouch into the bottom.

  ‘Never mind, nothing’s broken. Can you pass me the ones on the floor? One at a time, and I’ll fill them. Good boy. Lucia, can you get the supplies from that cupboard please?’

  Lucia felt the weight of each jar as she returned them to the galley cupboard. ‘Isa, how long will these last?’

  ‘Not as long as we need. The moon flower will go first, since there’s so much sunburn.’

  ‘I’m not burnt,’ Pio chimed in.

  ‘No, you’re not,’ Lucia smiled. ‘Not yet anyway.’

  ‘Isa’s not burnt either.’

  ‘No, she’s as brown as a nut.’

  ‘It’s my blood,’ Isaura said calmly.

  Lucia looked stricken. ‘Didn’t you know that’s what they’re saying?’

  ‘But I’m brown too. Is it my blood? Isa, do we have the same blood?’

  Isaura laughed. ‘No, Pio, we don’t have the same blood.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Isa,’ Lucia whispered.

  Isaura shrugged. ‘It’s not your fault.’ She flexed her leg, wincing. ‘One sore leg and I feel like I’m a hundred!’

  ‘You need to rest.’ They escorted her to her pallet near the cabin wall.

  Pio plonked himself beside her with his flute in hand. ‘Listen, Isa. I’m going to play for you.’ Isaura carefully schooled her expression. Pio, uncharacteristically nervous, commenced to play very quietly and hesitantly. ‘It’s not very good … I’m not very good,’ he said. ‘But I want to get it right. I don’t want to be laughed at.’

  She smiled encouragingly. ‘Just keep playing to me quietly until you figure it out. No one will laugh.’

  ‘C’mon, let Isa rest.’ As Isaura watched them leave, she pulled the leather pouch from her satchel. Opening the pouch, she drew out a small wooden box which had a lily carved into its top. Confirming that it was still sealed she discretely hid it again in the bottom of her satchel.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘LOOK OUT!’ PIO raced to a gap in the railing and leapt into the air, curling up his body, wrapping his arms around his legs and hitting the water, bottom first. Peals of laughter ensued, followed by high pitched squeals and yells. Nicanor and Lucia leaned over the railing watching the antics in the water. A skinny figure swam up to the side of the barge, grabbed a rope and clambered onto the deck. He scrambled upright and moved out of the way as a petticoated figure followed him up.

  ‘Ready?’ A quick nod was the only reply. Together they ran hand in hand and jumped into the water, just as Pio had, to a chorus of cheers.

  Squeals of delight and distant splashes roused Isaura. Grinning, she tried to struggle to her feet but could not rise. With a grunt of pain she sat back down with a thump. As she tried again, two sets of strong hands grabbed her under her armpits and hauled her up.

  ‘Thanks. What’s going on?’ she said as Nicanor and Lucia helped her to the railing.

  ‘No need to ask how your leg is?’ Nicanor asked, concerned.

  ‘A bit more rest and I’ll be fine.’ She watched the children’s antics with amusement.

  ‘At least they’re enjoying themselves,’ Lucia said, smiling at Nicanor.

  ‘That boy swims like a fish,’ Nicanor said.

  Isaura turned her head in the direction of a plaintive bleat and saw the last of the goats being slaughtered further down the deck. Blood was being washed off the deck into the ocean on the opposite side of the barge from the children. She lowered herself to the deck and leaned against the railing. To stave off sleep again, she tried to concentrate on the shipboard sounds. Isaura could clearly discern the children, and beyond that an argument, then another splash further away. More goat guts, she thought.

  Her mind drifted. Everything sounded so normal. They could have been at home in the village square. It was like this each time she lay down and closed her eyes to rest, almost as if she could hear every noise on board. Even the sound of the water was acute to her ears. Often she concentrated on the noises around her as a way to pass time, trying to guess what each was or who was talking. Usually she lost herself in the exercise and would drift into a dream-filled sleep. Letting the sounds wash over her, she remembered her home. Isaura felt something brush by her; her eyes shot open as she gasped. There was nothing there, yet she felt uneasy.

  Lucia and Nicanor turned from watching the children. ‘Isa?’ they said in unison.

  ‘Get me up!’

  They looked at each other with concern, but quickly helped her. Isaura raked her eyes over the boat; everything seemed fine. People were resting or sorting their belongings. The butchering of the goat was finished and the deck clean. The children seemed fine, but she couldn’t shake her unease. She looked at the water, and felt something brush against her again. ‘I think the children should come out of the water.’

  ‘Isa, they haven’t been in that long,’ Lucia said. ‘They …’

  ‘Just get them out. Get them out!’ Again she felt something slide against her. ‘Please!’

  Lucia frowned. ‘Pio! Time to get undercover.’

  ‘Aw … nooo … Just a bit longer.’

  ‘Hey, look at that!’

  Nicanor, Lucia and Isaura looked further along the deck where several people were gathering to peer into the water. Nicanor quickly went to see for himself. As he reached the railing a massive fish rose out of the water and grabbed the floating innards of the goat in one bite. He paled at its size and the rows of deadly teeth he saw in its open maw. He could hear Pio pleading for more time to swim as he raced back up the deck, dodging obstacles.

  ‘Pio, out now! All of you, out!’ Nicanor boomed. Pio took one look at his father’s face and hastened to climb the rope up the ship’s side.

  More ropes were thrown over the side to haul the children up. Parents were leaning over the railing to grab their young ones as they began to clamber aboard, all the while shouting, ‘Quick, quick! Hurry!’

  Once the last child was safely onboard, Isaura slumped in relief, sliding to the deck. ‘What was it? What was wrong?’ she asked Nicanor.

  He didn’t answer, just dragged a grumbling Pio to the other side of the boat. Lucia followed in his wake.

  ‘Look!’ Nicanor said to Pio. ‘Do you really want to swim with them?’ Pio’s eyes bulged in shock. Several fish were fighting over the goat’s remains, tearing it to shreds. ‘We are lucky that they were too busy with this to notice you and your friends. No more swimming. Do you hear me?’

  As Lucia dragged their son off to get dry, she stole an anxious look at Nicanor. ‘How did she know?’

  Nicanor shook his head. ‘Later,’ he said quietly, noting that Lucia was not the only one giving Isaura slightly untoward looks.

  * * *

  Isaura felt an almost constant lethargy, yet she endeavoured to remain awake and alert as much as possible. She’d hoped that she would be so exhausted by the end of the day that she would have a dreamless sleep. It wasn’t working. Each night as she relaxed and tried to sleep, the sounds around her would seem alluringly clear; she would lose herself in the sounds and then drift into her memories and dreams. Too often, she revisited the homes of the elderly they had left behind. She had provided them with what they needed, and for several people she supplied them with the only thing
they had requested. ‘Just in case,’ they’d told her. Often she woke to the sounds of their voices and tears. Now, staving off sleep, Isaura surreptitiously watched Hugo sitting at what had become his favourite spot: on a small crate wedged between two larger ones. He had been uncharacteristically quiet. This worried Isaura, more than his moods and rantings ever had. She had no idea what to do with him.

  Hugo shuddered at the endless blue desolation. The very sight of it had made his heart pound and caused him to break out in a sweat. The meagre water ration did nothing to slake his constant thirst. Isaura had cautioned him about staying out in the sun as if he were a child. His spot was shielded from most of the sun. Only a little hit his head and he’d tied one of his shirts around it for protection—he was only a little pink.

  He had offered to help with deciding the daily ration since he had more experience than Isaura, but they didn’t listen. She had refused his help to tend the misguided fools who volunteered to be on this miserable boat. High handed girl! Well, no more offering. He leaned against the crate, wrinkled his nose in disgust at the odour of unwashed bodies nearby, closed his eyes and dozed in the sun. Dreams he had not experienced for decades returned to haunt him.

  Hugo was in a massive hall surrounded by people—sick people, rows of them lying on pallets or the floor. There was a sweet stench in the air. He didn’t want to be there. He wanted to be in his garden. He loved his garden. He grew the best medicinal herbs and plants of all the apprentices.

  He was shoved abruptly to the side as a body was carried out and dumped in a wagon. There were no medicines left; he’d spent days just placing cold compresses on patients, sponging the sweat and stink off them. He needed to get away from the rank mix of unwashed bodies, vomit and faeces. He stepped outside for air. The sky was black. Thick smoke rose from the many pyres outside the city walls; he was assailed by a different odour.

  He and another young apprentice were taken to a large courtyard. Each entrance to the courtyard was flanked by two tall vases containing large purple lilies which emitted a cloying sweet scent. At one door, someone had placed a statue of Eloy, a famous Matryan hero who had chosen to sacrifice himself in order to save his comrades in arms. At the other entrance was a statue of Roldán, the guardian of the dead.