One-Eye bowed again, the audience evidently over and she found herself being led back through the crowd and away from that horrible old man and his gory stick.
“Where are you taking me and what’s going to happen?” she asked noticing the compound.
Huts made of bamboo on wooden pilings served as shelters, the roofs of thatched palm leaves. Not very sturdy, she thought, one good wind would knock the whole lot of them down. Dogs scurried out of their way and a group of naked children followed. The huts were scattered haphazardly with no apparent plan, some of them actually built up in high trees. Smaller fires burned here and there and a smattering of women with small children tended cooking pots. But the majority of the village was congregated about the central bonfire.
They stopped before a small hut and One-Eye turned to her. “Sleep here. Someone will guard, but,” he shrugged his shoulders, “only to keep others away. You never able to find way tonight.”
“Please, could I have food and water?” Angela pleaded and he nodded.
“I will send someone. Go!” He pointed up toward the hovel and Angela started up the rickety ladder. When she reached the top he took the ladder away and spoke to one of the older children. The child ran off and One-Eye sat down to keep the first vigil.
Angela entered the shadowed interior of the hut. There was no door and no furniture, just four walls, a rough planked floor, and roof. It was tiny with only enough room for several people to stretch out on the floor and sleep, but at least she had a roof over her head. There was a rustling noise and a huge cockroach dropped from the woven roof onto her shoulder. With a stifled shriek she brushed it off and stomped on it, kicking it out the floor. A delicate shudder shook her body and Angela wondered what else she must endure. There were probably rats too. She would never be able to sleep.
Sitting down cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the room she looked out the door. She could see the bonfire in the distance, the dark bodies moving en masse to the drums. Beyond that was the darkness of the jungle and the cliffs cutting off escape. Fleeing tonight would be impossible in any case. Angela was nearing collapse from a combination of hunger, thirst, fright, and exhaustion, and the thought of tackling the cliff at night was unthinkable. One-Eye was evidently quite aware of it since he was less concerned about keeping her in the hut than keeping other people out.
“Missy!”
Angela’s head jerked and her eyes flew open. She had fallen asleep sitting up! A girl of about thirteen knelt before her naked to the waist, outlined against the light from outside. Her white teeth flashed in the darkness at Angela’s confusion.
“Missy,” she repeated. “I have brought food and water.” Unrolling a bundle she spread it on the floor. “Here is a mat for you to sleep on and a blanket. Oh!” she gasped as the light reflected in Angela’s eyes. “Your eyes are like a cat in the night.” With a hesitant yet curious finger she touched the dark mass of curls tumbling over Angela’s shoulders. “And your hair is as soft as feathers.” With a little giggle and before Angela could regain her senses sufficiently to thank her she left.
The smell of food mobilized Angela and she discovered in the half-light a hot bowl of stew and something that looked like a potato. A jug of water was beside it and she grabbed it, tipping it up to her mouth, gulping the wonderful cool liquid down. Some of the water spilled down her chin, dripping onto her bodice but she took no note of it. When the dust was washed out of her throat and her thirst was quenched she set the jug back down wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
She had forgotten to take her gloves off and with clumsy fingers peeled them off putting them in her pocket. She would need them again when she climbed out of this place. Pouring some of the water into her hands Angela rubbed them together then washed her face drying them on a clean part of her ragged petticoat.
A rumble from her stomach reminded her of her hunger and she picked up the potato and bit into it. It was delicious, the skin crispy and the inside warm and soft. It had a sweet taste unlike any potato she had ever eaten before. The stew was the best she had ever eaten and Angela smiled remembering the time Jack had made some stew and she had thought exactly the same thing. Hunger and hard exercise did wonders for the appetite, making the simplest of meals seem like gourmet quality. The food was gone too soon, she could easily have eaten twice as much.
Looking outside Angela saw that the ladder had been taken down again and One-Eye was still sitting in the dirt below her hut. The dancing and singing continued but her eyes were heavy with sleep. Rolling herself into the ragged blanket the girl had brought Angela curled up on the woven mat wondering what else they could make out of palm leaves. Probably countless other useful items she would never think of. And with that thought in mind she fell into a deep sleep.
Dark incubuses surrounded Angela poking and pulling at her in the orange blaze of the fire. She was dragged bodily from the hut in a daze, wondering where she was and what was happening. Instinctively she struggled to free herself knowing something ghastly was happening, wondering if she was in the midst of a bad dream. She shivered in the warm night air and stumbled but the hands propelling her onward wouldn’t allow her to fall.
The crowds of people again and the drums pounding in her ears. This time they parted to make way for her like the opening of the Red Sea. Every eye was on her avidly waiting as they sang and swayed in time to the barbaric music. It was still night but the moon silvered the velvet swatch of sky visible above the cliffs. The stars were pale, waning as if the day was not far off.
She had slept but for how long? Could this be the same night, the same place she had inadvertently stumbled on during her ride? What madness surrounded her embodied in the ritualistic revelry that had laid hold of the Maroons? Angela had heard whispers of voodoo and other strange rites that the slaves had brought from their native Africa and still clung to. Her stomach churned uneasily as she wondered why she was being thrust into their occult ceremony.
The skinny obeah man sat on his throne watching and he seemed to be part of the dark carved wood, only his eyes moving. Hands held Angela immobile and there was a strong arm around her throat cutting off most of her air. She couldn’t move and watched the sickening motion of the people undulating like a heavy sea. There was a puddle of blood on the ground with feathers scattered on it. She had heard they sacrificed small animals: chickens, pigs, goats in their own primitive way.
The feathered obeah stood up and the drums stopped. With a nod of his head Angela’s arms were jerked, held outstretched, and one of her sleeves was ripped off. The silence was more horrible than the incessant racket and the breath whistled through Angela’s clenched teeth. She was completely, totally in their power, unable to move an inch. She saw everything through a mist as if she were very far away and what they were doing was not happening to her.
A large gleaming knife appeared in the obeah man’s gnarled hand and she knew that this time it wouldn’t be used to chop off her skirts. She tried to fight but all of the strength was sapped out of her from the long day and fitful sleep. The leader moved, standing in front of her, his black eyes gleaming evilly into her outraged aqua ones. He raised the knife and Angela shut her eyes, unable to look.
She didn’t want to die! There had been a time when she had prayed for the oblivion of death, the long endless sleep, so she could be relieved of her suffering and heartbreak. When she had thought Scott dead her only wish had been to join him and living had been an ordeal. But now she struggled against it, her whole life ahead of her once more.
Angela opened her eyes to find the man frozen in a trancelike state, the knife held high. She couldn’t stand it any more.
“Get it over with, damn you!" she screamed. The arm tightened around her throat choking her off.
The blade moved swiftly and Angela gasped as a searing pain sliced through her wrist. The drums began again and in confusion she looked at her arm, the blood spurting from her veins. An extremely fat man knelt catching the crim
son stream in a bowl. All she could think of was Thurston Vaughn lying pale and dead in his bloody bath and she wondered how long it took for a person to bleed to death. She felt sick, dizzy, and cold, and went limp against the iron hands.
“No, no!” she moaned between trembling lips as the drums and chanting increased in tempo.
She had been transported to a devilish orgy where she was the sacrifice. Some of the people screamed and rolled about on the ground as if possessed, others whirled and danced, and some just stared with unseeing eyes right through her into the fire beyond. The obeah man cavorted around her brandishing the bloody knife in one hand and the grisly stick in his other. His feathered headdress brushed her face causing her to cringe and waves of nausea coursed through her.
As suddenly as they had seized her the hands let go and Angela fell to her knees pressing her wrist tightly against her midriff. Through the veil of her hair she saw the bowl proffered to the leader by the fat man. He accepted it and dipped the top of his stick into it sprinkling the blood onto the eagerly upturned faces of the people. It was an outrageous travesty, the melding of pagan worship with Christianity. Angela had seen priests in Italy doing the same thing but with holy water.
The fat man took the stick and the obeah man held the bowl up for everyone to see. The drums ceased again and the ones writhing on the ground got to their feet. All eyes were on the bowl including Angela’s as he slowly lowered it. She watched in horror as the leader put it to his lips and drank deeply of her blood in a depraved cannibalistic ceremony. The blood dripped down his chin and as he smiled revealing bloodied teeth. Angela vomited violently on the ground.
They were fiendish evil people, especially their wicked leader, and had made Angela their innocent victim. Somehow she was led back to the hut amazed to find herself still alive. The girl who had brought her food spoke soothingly in meaningless words as she bathed Angela’s face and made her drink a fiery liquid. Too weak to protest she yielded to the ministrations. She cried out as the girl washed her wrist and applied some odd-looking leaves to the wound. She bound it tightly with strips torn from what remained of Angela’s petticoats.
Her whole arm burned and throbbed, on fire from the attack and small tremors shook her as she lay curled in the blanket. Too weary to even raise her head Angela saw the dawn bathing the world in cleansing light wiping out the dark, diabolical events of the night. But when she closed her eyes all she could see were glistening, black dancing bodies, fire and blood.
Slowly, imperceptibly Angela came awake, the light outside blinding her. She turned over, every bone and muscle in her body aching at the effort. What a nightmare she had had last night! The terror of it lingered still. She stretched and felt a constricting band about her wrist. Frowning, fully awake she looked at the torn strips of cloth stained with blood.
It had been real! All those ghastly dreams had happened! With trembling fingers and a sick feeling in her stomach she undid the improvised bandage and removed the crushed leaves. An ugly diagonal gash married the delicate skin of her wrist but at least it wasn’t infected and seemed to be healing. Angela washed the wound with some of the remaining water and bound it again.
She had to get out of the valley! The Maroons were mad and she wasn’t about to stay and see what they would do to her next. Cautiously Angela poked her head out of the doorway and looked around. Everything was deserted. They were probably sleeping off the excesses of their long night. There was no one guarding the hut now but the ladder was lying below and it was a good drop to the ground. Mustering up her courage she decided to jump, hoping she wouldn’t twist an ankle or worse.
Before she could put her escape into action One-Eye appeared in the distance. Angela swore under her breath as he approached the hut, put down what he was carrying and propped the ladder up against the hut. Then he sat down and waited for her to come down.
Descending the rickety ladder Angela looked hungrily at the food spread out before One-Eye. She hadn’t had much to eat yesterday and barely had time to digest it before getting sick. One-Eye gestured at the food and she sat down on the hard packed earth grabbing one of the potatoes. It was cold but good and she eyed the rest of the food suspiciously. Most of it was unrecognisable and she didn’t want any stew wondering what it might contain. So instead she had some fruit and more potatoes washing it all down with cool mountain water.
“I want to go home,” she told One-Eye. “If you help me get away safely I will pay you anything you want, enough to get off this island and start a new life for yourself somewhere else.” He looked at her silently eating the remains of the meal. “Please, I can’t stay here after last night. You saw what they did to me!” She held out her bandaged wrist as a reminder.
One-Eye only grunted and Angela wondered uneasily if he had been one of the men holding her last night while they drained off some of her blood.
“Stay one more day,” he said at last getting to his feet. “Do not try to run away. Guards at steps.” Then he left.
One more day! But he had not exactly said that he would help her to escape. What if he went straight to the leader with her offer of a bribe? Guards at the cliffs! She could never escape on her own but must have an accomplice. One-Eye must be going to help her otherwise why warn her of possible danger from the guards?
There was no choice but to trust him. So far he had been concerned about her safety, tying the rope around her for the dangerous climb, guarding the hut most of the night so she would be unmolested. But he hadn’t been able to stop them from taking her to the bonfire.
All day long Angela stayed near the hut, fearful to stray too far beyond the watchful sight of the women. She could see them building a huge fire again and the thought of a repeat performance of last night sent cold shudders through her. One-Eye came in the evening with more food and he insisted on putting more of the crumpled leaves on her wrist. Try as she might Angela couldn’t get another word out of him about fleeing, but why would he be worried about her cut if he knew they would kill her?
Convinced at last that One-Eye would help her Angela devoured all the food and huddled in her hut. As the darkness descended like a curtain, sweeping around the valley, closing it off from the rest of the world, the Maroons began gathering. The bonfire was lit and the drums began again. Angela put her hands over her ears trying to shut out the noise but the sound vibrated right through her. Finally in spite of the uproar and her own fears of what would happen she fell asleep.
One-Eye shaking her violently woke her. Angela was alert instantly, surprised to find she had slept the night and morning through with no disturbances.
“Today big day,” One-Eye said, “Maroons have big plans. You come where we go. Be ready soon!”
Less than half an hour later he returned and led an uneasy Angela through the dense foliage toward the cliffs. He was his usual uncommunicative self, ignoring her questions. She followed him apprehensively, noting other people, men and women heading in the same direction. Come to think of it the village was almost deserted, peopled only by the babies, minded by the young girls.
She almost fainted when she saw the cliff. A huge crowd milled around the bottom each one waiting their turn to scale the perpendicular rock face. It was a mass exodus of practically every adult Maroon. Tiny human figures climbed agilely clinging to the rough handholds as if they did it every day.
“What is going on?” she whispered to One-Eye. “I thought you would help me get away. Where is everyone going?”
All he kept muttering was that it was a big day, an important day for the Maroons. Wherever they were going and whatever they meant to do Angela was once again caught up in their midst. She watched them and they watched her and she hoped that once past the cliff top she could slip away quietly into the jungle. It was worth a try but the first obstacle was the dizzying climb ahead and that was a formidable one.
This time there was no rope binding her safely to One-Eye, she was on her own. He was right behind her but if she slipped it would b
e all over. So Angela concentrated on one step at a time, moving carefully and trying not to think of what lay ahead. Safety and escape lay at the summit and that was her goal.
She made it and lay breathing heavily for several minutes in the long grass. The greatest hurdle had been overcome and now there were just small ones to contend with. Hadn’t she always managed in the past?
They walked silently through the thick green forest all day long, stopping only to drink from the clear bubbling streams that interspersed the island. With dawning uncertainty Angela noticed that every man and woman carried some sort of weapon. Most had sharp knives tucked into waistbands, some had the crudely made bows and arrows she had noticed on her first meeting with the Maroons. One-Eye kept close to her, his ever watchful black eye alert in his ugly scarred face. She felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter with no opportunity to escape.
Dusk came swiftly in the forest beneath the overshadowing branches of a hundred different kinds of trees. The Maroons broke into smaller groups passing single file like silent apparitions between the trees. After the raucous uproar of the last two nights it was odd indeed.
They marched on and on into the night and when Angela paused to inquire of One-Eye she was hushed immediately. Even in the darkness the area seemed familiar and Angela kept herself alert for any opportunity to get away. Sensing her intent One-Eye grabbed her arm firmly and wouldn’t let her go. At last they stopped, crouching in the bushes, waiting.
The moon rose lemon-yellow in the sky, caught in the high branches like a large exotic fruit. Pale wisps of clouds raced across the moon’s face like gray tendrils of smoke. Angela sat on the ground with her back against a tree trunk. She was exhausted after walking all day and part of the night. It must be close to midnight and still no camp was made nor fires built. None of them had eaten since the beginning of the journey. She shifted restlessly and immediately one glowing eye was on her. Would he never give up his vigil?
Across Captive Seas Page 23
