by Rita Woods
There!
There it was again! Across the clearing, moving in and out of the golden haze. She strained to see.
No one should be out here.
She smiled bitterly. She shouldn’t be out here. Only David Henry’s men had been back to the Edge, as far as she knew; everyone else in Remembrance avoided it as a cursed place.
Across the clearing came the snapping of twigs, the sound exaggerated in the queer floating fog. A shape—large, human—appeared between the trees, before fading back into darkness.
Margot tried to swallow. She gripped the lantern with such force that the handle bit into her palm, but fear had pushed her far beyond pain. Whipping her head around, she contemplated making a run for it, dashing back up the small trail, but there was no way to relight the lantern, and in the dark she would be crashing around blindly, lost and loud.
Mère douce, sweet Mother, what should I do?
She broke out in a cold sweat as she crouched low, the darkened lantern pulled tight against her chest. She searched with her free hand until she again felt the knife through the fabric of her skirt.
If they come … if they are so stupid that they come back … then I will stand against them. I will fight! I will run no more. Sweet Lord, I sound like Petal.
She stared across the clearing, holding her breath until her vision blurred. And then, someone crashed through the trees, out into the open. Margot clapped a hand over her mouth.
Mother Abigail lurched into the high grass of the clearing, arms held above her head, staggering from side to side. She shook her fists at the inky sky, crying out in a language that was familiar to Margot. Like French seasoned by another place, another time: the words and rhythms thick and exotic. The streets of New Orleans were filled with Negroes, both free and slave, who spoke it. It was the language of vodun.
The fog roiled around Mother Abigail like a wide, shimmering river, rendering the priestess nearly unrecognizable.
“Fantôme,” whispered Margot.
She strained to hear as Mother Abigail wobbled in the center of the small clearing, head thrown back.
“Why?” cried the old woman. “Why? Have I not been a loyal servant? For the loa did I not forsake vengeance? For the spirits did I not swallow my wrath like a stone? And for this I end my days the way I started? Hiding in my home like akrochaj tóti, a snapping turtle.”
The hair on Margot’s neck stood on end. Vengeance? Against whom? The slavers? She watched as the old woman staggered about the clearing, crying out, pleading. And it was not necessary to touch her to know that something was badly wrong.
46
Winter
“You gon’ shoot me, boy?” David Henry’s voice was quiet, barely a whisper. At first Winter wasn’t sure that Dix even heard, but after a pause that seemed to stretch forever out into the cold night, she saw the boy shake his head, saw his Adam’s apple bobbing wildly in his throat.
“N-n-no,” said Dix. The barrel of the gun wavered but then steadied so that once again it was aimed at the dead center of David Henry’s chest. “Not if I don’t got to … no.”
David Henry took a step toward the white boy. Winter’s gut clenched and she shot out a hand to stop him, but he pushed past her.
“Do something,” hissed Louisa.
She had nearly forgotten Louisa, forgotten everything except the icy pain in the center of herself, the pain that was actually horror, as she stared at the gun leveled at David Henry’s heart.
“Do something, girl. Work a spell on him or something!”
She felt, rather than saw, Louisa move closer.
“Stay right where you are.” Dix swung the gun toward them, then back toward David Henry. “I ain’t tryin’ … I ain’t wantin’ to hurt nobody but … but I’ll shoot … I’ll shoot every one a’ y’all dead where you stand. Y’all hear me?”
David Henry nodded. “We hear ya, son.” He took another step. “But we not gon’ be much use to you dead, ain’t that right?”
“Mister, I gotta take these girls. They run off from us. I gotta take them. They worth nearly half a year’s wage. That’s a fact. And I don’t bring ’em back … if I just let y’all run off, then Colm and Frank … then they say they gon’ go back to your place … they gonna…” Dix took a step back as David Henry took another step toward him, and then another.
“Don’t come no closer. I’ll shoot. I swear it!”
Inch by slow inch, David Henry moved closer, and closer still, until the barrel of the gun was pressed hard into the fabric of his overcoat.
“I’m sorry, son.”
But he didn’t look sorry, he looked … crazed. As if any minute he might knock Dixon McHugh to the ground and beat him to death. Everyone in Remembrance had seen this look on him, this streak of madness that surfaced unexpectedly in him from time to time, and they knew that when he was in that, when it came, it was best to stay away. He stood, pressing his weight against the barrel of the gun. Dix stood there, too, blinking, as if unsure what to do.
“What they gon’ do to Remembrance, boy?” snarled David Henry into Dix’s face. “They goin’ back there? Your pattyroller brothers stupid enough to go back there and try again? That what you sayin’?”
The Adam’s apple jiggled in Dix’s throat. “They not my brothers,” croaked Dix. “They just … some men I met on the road. Had food and a fire. Said I could make good money if I stayed on with ’em.”
He looked at Winter as he said this, his pale eyes wide in his pale face, as if trying to explain himself to her. And for a moment, a heartbeat, she felt a flicker of pity for the skinny, ragged boy, even as he stood there trembling, his gun pressed over David Henry’s heart.
David Henry pressed forward and Dix stumbled, then righted himself. David Henry was shorter than Dix but thickly muscled and nearly twice as wide. She saw Dix tense, saw him go rigid as his backbone tightened against the weight of the older man.
Oh, god. Please don’t shoot. Please, please, please don’t shoot.
“Sorry, young son,” said David Henry again. “But these girls don’t belong to you and they ain’t goin’ with you.”
Dix’s eyes flicked toward Winter again. She read the confusion, the panic there, and something else too, something sadder.
“Shoot me,” said David Henry.
She jerked at the words. So did the white boy.
“I…”
“Shoot me! Shoot. Me.”
The boy said nothing. His pale eyes looked wet in the moonlight as they spun wildly from David Henry to Winter and back again, his mouth a round O.
“Shoot me!” screamed David Henry. “Shoot me, damn you! Shoot me!”
His voice bounced off the trees, echoing in the brittle air, and Winter wondered if she was the one that had gone crazy.
“Do something,” Louisa said again.
“What?” Winter hissed under her breath, her eyes never leaving the gun pointed at David Henry. “What do you want me to do?”
“Shoot me.”
And then Dix was facedown on the ground, the gun flung deep into the woods, David Henry with a knee pressed between the boy’s shoulder blades. He yanked the boy around and punched him in the face again and again. Dix brought up his hands, vainly trying to protect his face.
“No,” screamed Winter. She threw herself at David Henry. “Stop!”
David Henry stopped, his arm cocked for another blow. He was breathing hard and she felt him trembling as he battled for self-control. With a growl, he shook himself and yanked Dix to his feet. Without a word he quickly bound the boy’s hands.
He jerked him around and peered into his face. “You shoulda shot me, boy,” he hissed. “’Cause brothers or not, you gon’ curse the day you ever broke bread with them slavers. And if they even think the name Remembrance…”
David Henry laughed, a harsh, barking sound. “… Then I guess it falls to me to end their slave-catchin’ days forever.”
Dix stumbled as David Henry pushed him roughly bef
ore him into the darkness.
“Let’s go, ladies,” said David Henry.
Louisa appeared at Winter’s side. “Good for nothin’,” she snarled. She glared, her hatred for Winter obvious even in the dim light. “He coulda shot him while you just stood there like a lump. You like tits on a rooster. Just plain ol’ good for nothin’.”
She spat at Winter’s feet then turned to follow David Henry into the night. Winter stood frozen on the invisible path. In the yellow light from the moon, the three—Louisa, David Henry, and the hapless Dix—looked like ghosts as they moved between the trees.
Louisa’s words rolled round and round in her head like a wooden marble, hurting all the places it hit. The icy pain in her gut had turned solid, as if she’d swallowed some terrible thing. She saw David Henry turn, heard him call her name. He was still angry. She couldn’t see his face in the shadows but she could hear it.
Louisa had stopped a half-dozen yards away and was watching her, a shaft of moonlight lighting her ruined face. It may have just been the scars that made it seem that way, but she was sure Louisa was silently laughing at her, taunting her.
Winter felt the air vibrating against her skin, felt the minute shifts in the ground beneath her feet as unseen animals scurried along the forest floor. She felt a thrum of anger building inside.
She had nursed her. Fed her. Cleaned her wounds. She had saved her life.
With no memory of moving at all, she was in front of Louisa. What would it feel like, she wondered, to reach inside of her. To send her particles spinning around each other in confusion. To make that hatred melt from her face the way she’d melted the chains back in the barn. She stared at Louisa, and the herbalist was no more solid to her than smoke. Winter could see through and inside the other girl, see every single cell that made Louisa Louisa. She could see the other girl’s heart beating beneath her clothes, see blood flowing like a stream through her veins.
“Good for nothing?” Winter hissed. Her voice sounded too deep, strangled, not her voice at all. She reached out one hand to feel the beating heart. Just one breath.
One.
She spread her fingers wide, reaching.
Two.
Louisa’s skin, so solid, so brown, was millions upon millions of octagonal cells overlapping each other. And where those cells connected were spaces along the seams. And she could see down through the seams, down to the muscle below. The sound of her breathing filled her ears.
“Y’all girls don’t settle down, I swear I’m-a make this white boy go find his gun over yonder and shoot you both!”
David Henry thrust his thick body between them and she felt something tear inside her, her connection to the healer severed. She staggered backward, gasping, one hand still stretched toward Louisa’s chest.
In the shadowed light, Louisa was staring at her. There was still hatred, but now it was overshadowed by fear. Winter smiled, reveling in that terror. If she couldn’t make her like her, she would make her fear her.
David Henry seemed not to notice.
“Try me, hear?” he said. “Just try me, and the only one’s gon’ end up back at Remembrance gon’ be me and this here white boy. I don’t have the time or the inclination to deal with the two a’ you fightin’ like cats and dogs.”
He turned to Dix. “I got half a mind to just turn ’em over to you like you wanted in the first place. And heaven help you with that, boy.” Dix glanced at the two girls but said nothing.
With a grunt of irritation, David Henry whirled and began moving along the trail, the others close behind. The trail seemed more clear to her now. Every branch, every tree root glowed with a faint energy.
Home! I’m going home!
She made a noise and David Henry shot her a look over his shoulder. She pressed her lips together and forced herself to follow in silence. But inside she was screaming with joy. She was going home.
47
Winter
“Best to stop. Rest up a bit. We close. Should be there by mornin’.”
David Henry’s words startled Winter. She wasn’t tired, hadn’t been tired since the confrontation with Louisa hours before. She’d barely noticed the passing of the night around her. In the cold air, her muscles sang. She could walk forever. Food, sleep—she didn’t need them now. The long, terrible days of being chained in a barn, the horrible night of sleeping like a mole under the ground had evaporated, replaced by a bright, dazzling energy. She had Louisa to thank for it. Rage and hate had sharpened her focus. Around her, the night shimmered. She stopped and breathed in brittle air. Louisa crouched down at the base of a tree and glared at her. Winter caught her eye, and the healer jerked her head away and stared fixedly at the ground.
“Sit down, Winter,” David Henry said quietly.
“But if we’re almost there…” Her skin tingled with excitement. “We should just keep going. We need to…”
He wrapped a thick hand around her arm and guided her firmly to a mound opposite Louisa. He pointed.
“Sit! You get tired, you make mistakes. You make mistakes, you get took.” He frowned and peered into her face. “What is the matter with you, girl? You twitchy as a tick.”
Winter grinned. David Henry glowed in the dark, a soft blue light moving in and around his skin. He shook her slightly. “If you gon’ get softheaded on me, Winter, you just better wait ’til we get back to Remembrance. Can you do that? Can you wait to go buggy ’til we get back to home?”
She nodded and bit back a laugh. “I can wait.”
“Good.” His face softened and he smiled. “Now sit here and watch this white boy. I’m-a walk up that trail a ways and check things out.”
She folded herself onto the muddy rise and tucked her knees under her chin. David Henry strode into the darkness and quickly disappeared, seeming to melt into the forest. She leaned back and stared up into the trees. The ground thrummed beneath her, the sensation unexpectedly soothing. Things were changing and she was changing with them. Remembrance was close now.
“What y’all gonna do with me?”
Dix sat a few feet away, nearly hidden among the branches of a chokeberry bush. Head down, bound hands between his knees, his teeth chattered loudly in the dark.
“What you deserve, white boy,” snarled Louisa without looking up.
Winter sensed David Henry creeping stealthily in the shadows far up the trail, could feel the tension in him as he searched the darkness for danger.
She turned toward the frightened boy. “I don’t know,” she said, finally.
“Y’all gonna kill me?” he asked. “That what you do with white folks?”
“Yeah,” muttered Louisa. “Every chance we get. Just like you do us.”
He seemed to shrink into himself.
“No,” said Winter. She shot a glance at Louisa.
“That’s not what we do. We don’t kill people for no reason,” she said pointedly. He refused to meet her eyes. “But we can’t just let you go home, either. We won’t let you hurt us again.”
“Ain’t got no home,” said Dix. “Told you that before.”
“Maybe we just hold on to you for a while,” said Louisa. She was looking at Dix now, her eyes flashing dangerously. “Make you our slave. Maybe sell you off. Though you a bit puny to bring much.”
Dix’s head shot up. “Can’t no white man be no slave.”
“Why not?” asked Winter. She wasn’t really interested in having Dix stay in Remembrance, let alone have him as her slave. But why couldn’t a white man be a slave?
“It…,” sputtered the boy, clearly taken aback. “Well, it just ain’t even natural, is all.”
The two girls looked at him incredulously. Louisa gave a harsh laugh. “Boy, you got a lot to learn about what’s ‘natural’ in Remembrance.”
Winter opened her mouth to remind him that, not so long ago, he’d accused them of being witches, that he’d heard things, seen things with his own eyes he couldn’t explain. In an upside-down world where they could be wi
tches, where folks appeared and disappeared out of thin air, why couldn’t he be a slave? In that sort of world, she knew anything was possible. The words were there, almost out of her mouth, to ask him that, when she felt the night shift around her. Her head whipped around. Had someone called her name out of the darkness?
Everything suddenly went still. The trees, the rocks, the dirt all seemed to harden, become impenetrable, and she was abruptly disconnected from everything. The particles that made up all things had suddenly seemed to stop spinning and the energy that had been pulsing around her in bright swaths of color had gone dark. The night became an ugly place of throbbing grays and blacks. She stood and squinted up the trail.
“David Henry?” she called softly.
There was no answer.
“David Henry?” she called again, her voice trembling.
“What is it?” Louisa was standing now, too. She kept her distance from Winter, but her head whipped this way and that as she tried to see into the darkness. “What you see out there?”
Dix stared wide-eyed at them. “What? I don’t see nothin’.”
“Something’s wrong,” said Winter.
Louisa’s laugh was shrill. “Really? No kiddin’.”
“We have to go,” cried Winter. “We have to go now!”
“What?” Louisa backed away from her. “Go? Go where? We not goin’ nowhere without David Henry.”
“Then we need to go find him, but we can’t stay here.”
“He said to wait here.”
“Get up.”
“No. I’m not going anywhere with you!”
Dix gaped as Winter grabbed the older girl by the collar of her cloak and yanked her up, flinging her a few feet down the dark trail.
“Go!” she snapped.
Whirling, she turned to face Dix. He hesitated only a moment before getting to his feet.
* * *