Across Captive Seas

by Michele du Barry

  “Please, Ezra—don’t talk of slaves and masters. Don’t grovel, it’s beneath your dignity. Oh, yes,” she smiled as he got to his feet, “you have more dignity than many great lords I have met. Do you think I could have left you a slave, bound to an antiquated system for life? Could I have let them lash you to death? There is far too little concern in this world for others and for once I had it within my power to do something about it!

  “I know what it’s like to be enslaved against your will, to be used at the whim of another person, beaten and treated worse than an animal. Oh, don’t you believe me? To you I am a great lady, carefully wrapped in cotton so I won’t break. Well I have news for you, my friend, I have been through more in the past seven years than you have in your whole life. But this isn’t the time to talk of the past. Your whole future is before you. What do you plan to do with it?”

  “I think,” beamed Ezra, “I will go to Australia with you! If your life has been that exciting in England I’d like to be in on some of your future adventures!”

  Angela’s eyes traveled mockingly over him. “Do you think you are up to it? You had better get back to bed and get well first.”

  “Touché,” he said with an uplifted eyebrow, turned and left as suddenly as a tropical rain shower.

  Angela looked at the broad crimson-soaked back and knew she had done the right thing. Her woman’s intuition had led her to this point and she knew that there would never be any regrets about their relationship in the future. They would be friends for life.

  She didn’t feel like continuing the children’s lessons now. A long, unrestrained gallop was what she needed. It was wonderful what a ride could do for the spirit! She rode through the forest and paused for a few minutes by the enchanting waterfall. Before long she was good and lost in the thick foliage, the green-shadowed place cool even in the noonday sun. But it was pleasant and there was no rush, sooner or later she would find a familiar landmark and get her bearings.

  Hours later Angela wasn’t so certain she would be able to find her way back. The air was chill and the forest as thick as ever and now there were strange noises like drums or giant heartbeats throbbing through the atmosphere. The sound went right through her and she shivered wondering what it was.

  Monstrous ferns, the size of trees, swayed twenty feet over her head making her feel as if she had shrunk to Lilliputian size. Moisture dripped from the strange-looking plants and without warning she was on the precipice of a wide chasm. She reined in just in time, stilling the frantic beating of her heart with a hand on her bosom.

  Plants clung tenaciously to the rocky steep-walled crevasse and a thin mist obscured the bottom. There was an otherworldly look about the place, as if it was forgotten by time and man. It scared Angela yet it was beautiful—green, leafy, and mysterious, a good setting for a ghost story. With the thought of impending darkness she began moving again following the erratic line of the cliff.

  The mist moved snakelike, shimmering as if it was alive and where it thinned out Angela glimpsed the silver ribbon of a river twining its way along the valley floor. Bare twisted rock formations reared occasionally out of the overabundant undergrowth, stark in comparison with the deep green surroundings. An odd roaring sound seemed to accompany the drums, rising and falling in intensity, and Angela wondered if it could be the wind. The noise was all around her yet no softer or louder than when she had first heard it and that had been miles ago. That in itself was strange, she had to be closer or farther away from the source but seemed neither. The whole place was beginning to get on her nerves.

  The gray shied suddenly and it took Angela a few minutes to bring her mount under control. The animal quivered beneath her as she sat very still carefully scanning the area around her. She could see nothing but trees, flowers, ferns, and rocks, the same scenery they had been traveling through for some time. Wrinkling her nose at a whiff of what smelled faintly like rotten eggs Angela started onward again. The odor became stronger and soon she had to put her handkerchief over her nose and mouth.

  Breaking into a tiny clearing the horse stopped, nervously eyeing a bubbling, steaming spring that was the source of the smell. What a strange place, Angela thought, bypassing the hot sulfur spring. She never would have imagined this tiny island could contain so many variations. She would have some interesting new things to tell Robert and Lorna about when she got home. But where was home? Everything looked the same, but it was definitely growing more alien by the minute.

  Traveling on she was still by the edge of the cliff and wondered just how large that hidden valley was and how one possibly got down there. Not that she wanted to explore it right now but it seemed so inaccessible with the high, sheer cliffs cutting it off from contact with the rest of the world. When she got home she would have to ask Matthew Grey about it, he would probably know.

  Angela stopped abruptly, looking carefully behind her, all around. Had there been a noise, the crackling of a twig, a rustling footfall? And if there had what could she do? She had no weapon save her quirt and the gray was tiring. It was just her imagination. Hadn’t Scott always said it was overactive? Well he was right and she was making herself nervous for no reason. Who could possibly be out in the middle of this isolated wilderness?

  The horse’s head jerked back, nostrils flaring as he caught an unfamiliar scent. With no warning a horde of half-naked black men swarmed out of the forest like ants. The horse was frightened already and a touch of the quirt sent it bounding beyond their reach. Angela rode as fast as she could within the confines of the jungle, glancing back to find the men on her heels. They were gaining on her and she saw a group breaking away from the main body to cut her off. Desperately she changed direction crashing through the undergrowth, but obviously this was their territory. They knew every tree, which put her at a disadvantage. There was no doubt in her mind that they meant to harm her, otherwise why would they be chasing her?

  This was foolhardy! They would catch her eventually, in fact they were almost upon her. Time to change tactics. Wheeling the horse about so quickly that he reared she brought everything to a halt. The surprised men stopped too, some scurrying out of the way of the pawing hooves. This they hadn’t expected and stood for a moment in awe of the small woman expertly controlling her big horse.

  “What do you want?” Angela asked in a loud deceptively calm voice.

  They pressed in closer and the gray danced away. She was thankful they couldn’t see the fear she felt. Angela made herself sit very straight with her shoulders squared. Her defiant chin lifted slightly ready to do battle as a hand closed around her reins. And she had thought the interlude in Jamaica would be dull! It had been anything but that and she wondered what would happen next. A vision of the Bratach Sith flashed through her mind. So it hadn’t finished with her yet! A shadow of a smile touched her lips.

  Repeating her question again Angela noticed one man detach himself from the group and make his way toward her. The crowd parted and he stood before her nondescript in every way except for the empty eye socket and ugly scar marring his face.

  “Horse,” he answered, his one eye staring up at her.

  “Very well,” she conceded. It would do no good to argue when they could just take what they wanted anyway. Let them have the horse as long as she got away safely.

  Angela dismounted, still grasping the quirt firmly in one hand. They moved back slightly but not much. There must be at least thirty of them and she would be no match for them; they could tear her to pieces in a moment. She noticed the sharp knives and crudely made bows and arrows, the way the leader looked at her quirt. For an instant she thought they were more afraid of her than she was of them but changed her mind as a heated discussion broke out in pidgin. She caught a few words here and there but for the most part couldn’t understand what was being said.

  Swallowing the lump in her throat Angela handed her quirt to One-Eye. It would do her no good in a fight. The gesture disconcerted him and the look in her odd-colored eyes dared him
to try anything.

  His eye narrowed as he thought. She must be someone of importance to be so self-assured and haughty in the midst of danger. Or was it that those ice-water Englishwomen didn’t know the meaning of fear? Either way he could take no chances. There was too much at stake now to spoil their plans and if they let her go, what had happened would reach the governor as soon as she got back. And soldiers breathing down their necks right now was just what they did not need. He would take her to the Shepherd and let him decide her fate.

  “You come,” One-Eye told Angela.

  “No! You have my horse. Now let me go on my way!”

  “Should stay out of Maroon territory. Not let you go. . .now!”

  Good lord—the Maroons! She had thought their stronghold days away and now like a fool she was right in the middle of it. Cockpit country, the Land-of-Look-Behind, the soldiers called it because of the invisibility of possible attack in the dense terrain. They were right—she hadn’t seen anything until the renegade slaves had decided to let themselves be seen. Where would they take her now? What was going to happen?

  She started laughing and conversation ceased as all eyes fastened on her, trying to comprehend their strange prisoner. Once again her life was in the hands of someone else, the way it always ended up. Only on brief occasions had fate allowed her to direct her own path. Well, she thought still laughing, she hadn’t done such a great job even when she took charge, her life always ended up all botched up. What was one more challenge? She always came out of them, if not totally unscathed, at least in one piece. The curse was playing with her again, the same old cat and mouse game.

  What did the legend say? That the person touching the flag would be plagued by calamities for the rest of their life. She had not only touched it but had torn it to shreds. It wouldn’t possibly give up on her this easily. Oh, she would go on living, probably for a long time just so the damned thing could see how much she could withstand. She had stood it this far, and losing Scott was the worst thing she had ever been through, so anything else would have to be anticlimactic.

  One-Eye pulled the sidesaddle from her horse and climbed on himself motioning for Angela to follow. With a resigned sigh she shook off the hand of one man, stared him down and began the long walk that would end she didn’t know where. It was rough going, the undergrowth making her skirts unmanageable but in spite of it she plowed ahead not looking to the right or left at the amused smiles. She stumbled along for miles at a brisk pace, not noticing where they were going, intent only on maintaining her footing. What difference did it make? She was lost anyway and would never find her way out without help.

  The shadows lengthened beneath the setting sun which glinted orange between the thick leaves. Angela was hungry and tired but she said nothing. Her hair straggled down her back and she was hot and dirty. She didn’t feel like laughing now. She would have given anything to be back at Bluehills in a hot bath with dinner and a soft bed waiting for her.

  Abruptly One-Eye stopped and slipped lithely off the horse. He pulled his razor-sharp knife from his waist band and the blade reflected the dying sun blinding Angela for an instant as he approached her. Taking a step back she tried to thrust him away but the knife flashed and he began hacking her dress off just below the knees.

  Her heart started beating again and she clasped her hands together so they wouldn’t see them trembling. For an instant Angela had thought she was a dead woman, but One-Eye had actually done her a service. Gone were the cumbersome dragging skirts. As they began again she moved freely, easily through the jungle, thankful for the knee-high riding boots that kept her legs from being scratched.

  It was gray twilight when they broke out of the forest. One perfect large star twinkled on the edge of the far cliff and the valley was a black abyss. One by one the Maroons started disappearing as if the earth was swallowing them up and Angela was shoved forward by One-Eye toward the dark cleft in the earth.

  “Go down now,” he said indicating the place where the men were vanishing.

  Angela looked over and down seeing the darker shadows that were men descending into the valley like flies on a wall. It was almost a sheer drop, and she shook her head in disbelief.

  “I can’t! I will fall! It must be hundreds of feet straight down!”

  “Stairs, small, very small. Men can go—you can!” It was an order but she couldn’t. Just thinking about it made her dizzy and she swayed.

  Quickly without speaking One-Eye fashioned a loop out of a rope that one of the others gave him and fastened one end around his waist. As he approached her she started to run but didn’t get far. Two other Maroons caught her and she screamed and struggled as the rope was tied around her waist and secured. They picked her up bodily and she thrashed and kicked in a complete panic. What if she slipped? What if the rope broke? What if One-Eye fell? She would be dashed to pieces on the sharp, jagged rocks below.

  They carried her closer to the edge and a man went over, calling out that he was ready. It was pitch black out, the only visible light pinpricks of stars against the night sky, not even a moon. Angela’s heart beat frantically, in time with the fast beat of the drums. Could they be closer now? Did the sound come from the bottomless valley? What had she gotten herself into this time?

  For a long frozen moment Angela swung free, out over the edge of the cliff. She screamed clutching at air. The scream echoed through the valley like the ever-decreasing sound of thunder, then returned to her ears. The rope jerked, held crushing the breath out of her. She could still see the stars but her eyes were closed and the hands of the man below were firmly on her waist pressing her against the plant-encrusted rock wall.

  Her feet and fingers groped for and found the stairs. Stairs! More like handholds hacked into the unyielding rock. Steady at last and able to breathe again Angela clung to the wall, aware of the taste of blood in her mouth from biting her tongue and the sweat all over her in spite of the sharp night air.

  “Go,” said One-Eye just above her.

  Between the two of them they got her moving, inching down the face of the cliff against her will. Every muscle in Angela’s body hurt and she breathed heavily as if she was running. Her foot slipped and she felt the rope go taut as One-Eye braced himself, but miraculously she didn’t fall. Pausing briefly she looked down and saw tiny orange-yellow lights moving in the blackness. They were torches and she still had all that way to go!

  “Do not look down!” instructed One-Eye as she started sobbing. “Do not cry!”

  But Angela couldn’t stop and suppressed all sounds, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. It was just making things worse, blurring her vision, stuffing up her nose. Something slithered past her arm and Angela screeched, scrambling down fast out of its way.

  “What now?” One-Eye asked, disgust evident in his voice.

  “A snake,” Angela managed to say, her words trembling in the heavy air.

  “Are you bit?”

  “No—I don’t think so.”

  “Go on. You would know if you was snake bit.”

  So the agony continued, downward, slipping and sliding with One-Eye cursing beneath his breath and the other man as silent as a stone. Angela’s arms shook and her legs quaked at the unaccustomed exercise. They would never reach the bottom—she would be stuck in a horrible limbo, forever between sky and earth. Then the blessed ground was beneath her feet and she collapsed shaking into a heap of jangling nerves and twitching muscles.

  There were men and women carrying torches, staring curiously at Angela as she found her handkerchief and wiped her wet face. Thank goodness for her gloves, without them her hands would have been cut and bleeding. It was a good thing One-Eye had cut part of her skirt off or she would never have been able to make it down into the valley. How in the world would she manage to get back out? The same way she got down, her mind answered, and she shuddered at the thought.

  Angela was hauled up onto her aching feet again and escorted by the group of people that had gathered. Th
is couldn’t be all of them because she could still hear the drums and now they were louder. So she had been right, the hidden valley was the source of the mysterious sounds she had heard all afternoon. The roaring noise wasn’t the wind but high excited voices chanting in a babble of different tones.

  As they broke out of the jungle into a clearing all Angela was aware of were people—hundreds of people dancing, singing, swaying, staring trancelike toward the huge central bonfire. There were men, women, and children of every age, their black half-naked bodies gleaming in the dancing firelight. The noise was deafening and seemed to build and pulsate. Shouting broke out as a tall, incredibly skinny man appeared, dancing around the fire dressed in a loincloth and a multicolored feather headdress. He had a long walking stick in his hand taller than he was.

  One-Eye shoved her through the vast multitude of whirling close-pressed bodies, toward the bonfire. It was warmer in the valley and humid, Angela found her clothes sticking to her damply. But the heat as they got closer to the fire intensified and she wondered how they stood it. Surreptitiously she wiped the sweat off her face with her sodden, dirty handkerchief. She was so tired, what would be next?

  They broke out of the crowd into the bright, blazing firelight where the man with the stick sat in a carved wooden chair, his black eyes piercing through her. He sat there like a king on his throne granting an audience to a peasant. Angela noticed the top of the stick was carved with a skull and there was blood on it dripping down over the grisly scepter.

  One-Eye bowed and gave Angela a look as if to say she would do the same, but instead she pulled her exhausted body up to her full height imposing her most haughty look on them both. The leader looked her up and down disdainfully from the top of her wild hair to the tips of her scuffed muddy boots. Then he and One-Eye began talking in that strange mixture of several languages that the people used among themselves. She watched stiffly as they conversed loudly, gesturing widely and glancing at her from time to time. Her stomach growled with hunger and she was glad it was so noisy that no one had heard.