by Avi
Night returned, and once again we set out upon the road, walking north. Clouds had lifted. The rain had ceased. The moon was bright. The air heavy with summer heat. Knowing we were drawing ever closer, and fearful of what we’d find, we didn’t speak. It was still dark when we finally came to the edge of Fitzhugh’s plantation.
Chapter Fifty-One
The Knife.
We stood on the verge of the woods and stared down over Fitzhugh’s land. The nighttime summer heat pressed on my face like a hot, damp, and heavy hand. Moonlight painted all with a pale, yellowy hue save the shadows, which were blacker than the dark. The old man’s house was dark, too, offering no hint if he was there or not. Yet everything about the place reminded me of his evil. There was nothing that was not him. Even the dense tobacco fields, with their tall stalks and huge leaves, were full of threat. What sounds there were came from the whirring of invisible insects and chirping crickets, like the ticking of a hurried clock.
From somewhere behind us came a low-pitched roar. It made me start, but though I listened hard, the sound didn’t repeat itself.
“Bear,” Bara whispered.
“Is that why we have to get the knife?”
“I told you what might be there. Besides, if Fitzhugh comes after us . . .”
I stared down over the land. “Doesn’t look like he’s here. Maybe when he didn’t find us on the road, he went back to town to look for us. Maybe we’re safe.”
Bara said, “And maybe he wants us to think he isn’t here. It would fit his fancy to take us by surprise.”
“That knife’s in the hog pen, isn’t it?” I finally asked.
“Where I put it,” said Bara.
“Do you think . . . he might know?”
“Hope not.”
“That’s what you did the other night, isn’t it? When he was deep drunk: you went down and took it.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did you . . . did you think of killing him?”
He nodded. “Course I did. But if it had gone wrong, he’d have killed me right then. I don’t care a kernel of corn about his life. I just want mine. You ever hear people say, ‘When I die I hope I’ll go to Heaven’?”
“Yes.”
“Well, if I can have my freedom, that’ll be Heaven enough for me.”
We continued to remain in place. Bara was still staring over the land. I was sure he was searching for Fitzhugh and was as uneasy as I was. That helped me, because Bara’s fear told me my fear was sensible.
Making a show of bravery out of my dread of being left alone, I said, “We can get the knife together. You always said those hogs were vicious.”
“They eat anything, even people. I put the knife there hoping they’d protect it. Now I’m hoping they don’t.”
He took a deep breath, as if to prepare himself. Without saying more, he started off along the path that separated the tobacco fields, walking with care, footsteps soft. I kept close, alert for the smallest hint of Fitzhugh. At the bottom of the slope the bay shimmered under the bright moonlight. I started at the sound of a distant splash but told myself it was nothing more than a jumping fish.
“Couldn’t we get away by that canoe?” I whispered.
“He keeps the paddle in his chest,” Bara reminded me.
Some twenty feet from the stables we heard the sound of a horse whicker. That stopped us dead.
“His horse,” Bara whispered.
I knew what that meant: Fitzhugh was about.
Chapter Fifty-Two
The Hog Pen.
Heart hammering, I wanted to say, “Let’s leave the knife behind,” but didn’t dare.
Bara resumed moving toward the pen. He reached its gate. The hogs snuffled and grunted at his arrival. With great care, Bara lifted the pen latch. I set myself behind him, searching over the land so if Fitzhugh showed himself I might see. If he caught us by surprise we’d be trapped.
The gate scraped open.
I heard something moving in the pen, which spun me around. The largest hog had lumbered to his feet. He was enormous. As if food were about to be delivered, the beast was looking right at Bara. Its wet snout dripping, the hog offered up a deep, throaty grunt. Whether it was a welcome or a warning I could not tell.
Bara took a step toward the feed box. With alarming speed, the hog shambled forward and placed his huge self between the feed box and Bara. He lifted his heavy head. From his raw, open mouth, spittle drooled and I could see his ragged teeth. His eyes were glossy.
Bara looked to me in appeal.
I ran into the pen. “Where’s the knife?”
“In the corn.”
I darted round the hog to the corn box and looked within. It was full of cobs. Using both hands to search for the knife, I simultaneously shoveled the corn out onto the ground, tossing it as far as I could. That was enough for the hogs. The big one lumbered over and began to root among the feed. The other hogs, squealing and grunting, joined him in an eating frenzy.
Seeing his way clear, Bara jumped to the food box and plunged his hands deep in, emptying it, looking for the knife.
I backed off. One of the hogs, thinking I meant to steal his food, lunged at my leg. I scrambled away and retreated into a corner of the pen, as far from Bara as possible. The beast advanced, head low, never taking his glinting eyes from me. He pawed the ground and grunted. His upper lip pulled back, showing his teeth.
“Got it,” I heard. I looked up. Bara was holding up the blade.
The hog that had been advancing on me turned in the direction of Bara’s voice, saw the other pigs with their snouts in the corn, and lumbered away to eat with the others.
With the pigs uninterested in us, Bara and I darted out of the pen, not bothering to latch it shut.
Even as we did, we heard the loud report of a gun.
That stopped us hard.
It was clear: not only did Fitzhugh know we were there, he wanted us to know it.
Chapter Fifty-Three
In Which We Flee for Our Lives.
Do . . . do you see him?” I said, my voice choked.
“No,” said Bara as he looked all ways around. “But he knows where we are. He’ll want to torment us before he kills us.”
To my surprise, Bara, the knife gripped in his hand, began to run up the slope. I scrambled to stay with him. To our right and left were tobacco fields. The goal became obvious: the swamp. Get there and—if Fitzhugh didn’t catch us—we’d be free.
But we hadn’t gone very far when we saw the old man. Blocking our escape, he was standing at the crest of the hill, illuminated by a flaming torch. There could be no doubt he fully intended us to see him and the musket that was in his other hand. It was deeply unnerving. Let no one tell you that the Devil isn’t smart. He’s also full of vanity.
“I trust you see me,” Fitzhugh cried. I heard glee in his voice.
“Now then,” he called down to where we stood frozen, “whichever one of you takes hold of the other and brings him to me, I’ll spare. I don’t care which of you does it. I just want one. Don’t doubt me; I’m willing to kill you both and pleased to replace you. Trash like you comes cheap and easy.”
We didn’t move.
“Make up your minds,” shouted Fitzhugh. “Who wishes to live? Be quick now.”
To give strength to his threat, he pushed the sharp point of his torch handle into the ground, wherein it stuck and flamed like his own private sun. Thus illuminated, and both hands free, he lifted his musket and leveled it at us—but at which one, we could not know.
Bara and I stood where we were gawping with indecision. Meanwhile, the old man remained before us with the clear intent of murdering at least one.
Then I felt Bara’s foot touch mine. Since we were standing side by side, he could not have moved it more than an inch. Perhaps less. All the same, in th
at tiny touch, I knew Bara’s thoughts as certain as if he had shouted into my ear: He would not give me up. And when I returned the gesture, I was telling him I would not give him up.
Let it be said, one touch, however small, can convey volumes. What Bara told me with that touch and what I told him in turn: that we would stand—or fall—as one. I tell you true, I felt a surge of strength and resolution.
Fitzhugh still had his gun leveled at us.
I heard Bara say, “Run.”
That word—“run”—might have been small, yet Bara was no more than halfway through it when he burst away, me sprinting by his side, heading straight toward a field of tobacco plants.
Fitzhugh fired his musket. The musket ball whipped by, followed almost instantly by the bang. I felt no pain and heard nothing from Bara to tell me he had been struck. Our quick movements had allowed us to evade his first shot.
We plunged directly among the tobacco plants, which at that late season were tall, taller for the most part than me and a fair number taller than Bara. He slashed frantically with the knife to cut them down. We would not have gotten through otherwise. Nor forget it was still night, and the tobacco plants, with their large leaves, made everything that much more obscure. It was as if the shadows had taken on solidity. Moreover, as we ran, we had to be stooped so as to remain poor targets. Nor did I have any idea which direction to go, but moved in Bara’s wake as fast as possible.
Behind us came the crashing, crushing sounds of the old man in frenetical pursuit. To make matters worse it was we who were opening a wide path that he could follow with far greater ease. He also had his burning torch to show him our path.
Another bang. Another musket ball flew past.
We burst out at the far side of the field, and while our way was no longer restricted, we were now exposed. If anything, Bara ran harder. I did, too. Once, twice, I glanced back to see if we were being pursued. Sure enough, Fitzhugh was following, still brandishing his flame though not gaining on us. But then he halted, and with a violent curse, flung the torch forward, so that its fire arched through the air, a blazing star, only to drop and lie upon the ground, still burning.
While it did not reach us, it was sufficiently close that I could have no doubt it illuminated us more, making for a clearer target. Sure enough, Fitzhugh paused and worked to reload his gun.
That’s when Bara spun about and ran back—in Fitzhugh’s direction. Astonished by what he was doing, I could only stand mazed and watch.
On the run, Bara reached the flaming torch, picked it up by its handle, and flung it back so that it landed behind Fitzhugh, midst the tobacco plants. Almost immediately I saw a lick of flame leap up.
Fitzhugh must have seen it too. He spun about to face the tobacco field.
As Bara ran back toward me, the fire spread quickly through the dry tobacco as new flares shot up and spread. The pop and snap of burning filled my ears. The heavy sot-weed stench was rank. The billowing smoke, illuminated by fire, became a swirling, scarlet cloud. In a matter of seconds the whole tobacco field was engulfed in flames. Even from where we stood I could feel the heat.
Stunned, Bara and I watched.
We saw Fitzhugh, as if shocked, move toward the flames, perhaps believing he could stop it.
We did not wait to see more, but plunged back into a different tobacco field. As Bara cut more plants, I pushed them away. Not until we reached the far side of that field did we stop again and, with lungs heaving for breath, peer back.
No sign of Fitzhugh. What we did see was that the flames now covered a large expanse of land, with whole fields engulfed by fire. I had no doubt Fitzhugh was the Devil. Now, to match, his farm was a burning hell.
Bara broke my trance by pulling at me. “The swamp,” he said with great urgency.
We ran again. It wasn’t long before I sensed the ground beneath my feet grow soft, telling me we were approaching the swamp. In my mind, it loomed before us as nothing, a black hole in the equally black night.
My courage and strength faltered. I used the sharp pain in my side as an excuse to stop running.
Bara, breathing hard, stopped beside me. We both looked back to the flames, higher and wider than ever.
“If he’s trapped in there,” I said, “we might already be free.”
It was my last defense against going into the swamp.
“Or he might still be coming after us,” Bara said. “We need to hurry.”
Even as he spoke, he vanished into the forward darkness, toward the swamp.
Let it be admitted, even then I hesitated. As far as I was concerned, I had been carried by the Owners Goodwill to the end of the world. Now I was being asked to go beyond.
I cannot tell you how long I stood there, caught as it were between two horrors. Then ahead, out of the dark, I heard Bara call, “You coming?”
Not wanting to be left behind, I dashed on, even as the ground kept getting softer. In short order, I began to splash through water. That was when I realized I had stopped going forward. Instead, I was sinking into mud, unable to move.
Chapter Fifty-Four
The Swamp.
My left leg was clagged in mire, which gripped with giant strength and, like some living thing, refused to let me go. If I moved, it sucked me deeper so that even as I sank down, my terror rose. Desperate, I looked for Bara only to see darkness, darkness below, darkness above, darkness everywhere. Around me, the swamp gurgled while unseen insects fluskered against my face like tiny fingers.
I tried to free myself by thrusting my right foot down only to have that leg held just as tightly. The best I could manage was to twist and turn, but to my further alarm, those movements caused me to lose all sense of direction—and worse, pulled me that much deeper.
“Bara,” I screamed. “I’m caught. I can’t move. Where are you?”
“Here.”
Somewhere close, but in all that engulfing darkness I couldn’t see him, not a hint.
“Where are you?” I heard him cry.
“Here. Caught in mud,” I yelled, and tried again to pull myself free, only to slip deeper. “Hurry. I’m sinking.”
“Keep talking,” he said. “I’m coming.”
“Here,” I cried. “Here.”
Though Bara was invisible, sounds of his splashing steps drew near. For my part I stretched out my arms—waving them about in all directions, trying to reach him. All I grabbed was nothing. Then, as I swung my hands about in the darkness, I felt his fingers, as he must have felt mine. He grabbed me.
“Got you,” he said.
“Pull,” I pleaded.
His hands shifted and gripped my wrist. He had me now—as I had him—four hands joined. As he began to back up, I began to rise slowly out of the mud.
“Keep holding on,” he instructed, but the reality was, he was holding me.
Every inch required effort. Each step took strength. All of this struggle took place in the dark; I could not see him—or anything else for that matter. Still, we labored until I felt firmness beneath my knees, reaching solid earth.
With great effort, I yanked my right foot free. Then my left. Released, I stumbled forward.
“Keep coming,” Bara urged.
I moved forward—walking on my knees.
Sopping wet, my body garbed in clinging mud, I managed to stand. Bara’s hand steadied me. Gasping for breath, I stared about, but I cannot say I understood where I was. I could see nothing, no stars, no moon, just blackness.
“Where . . . are we?” I said.
“Not sure.”
I turned in the direction from which I believed we’d come. I thought I saw a flickering of flames at some distance, which I took to be Fitzhugh’s tobacco fields.
“Still burning,” I said.
“Looks it.”
“Do you think he’s alive?”
&nb
sp; “If he is, he’ll be coming after us. And not just him.”
I leaned over and touched about the solid ground, finding grasses and bushes. To the best of my senses, it appeared as if we were on an isle of earth, but whether small or great, I could not tell. Spent, I sat down.
Bara sat close by.
“If you hadn’t come, I would have disappeared,” I said.
“But you didn’t.” Then he said, “It’s a good thing you’re my younger brother.”
“Why?” I said, pleased he called me “brother.”
“Because if you were older you’d have no excuses.”
A small jest but it calmed me. I allowed myself a deep breath. “How many times have you saved me?”
“Too many. But you saved me from those hogs. You were with me in the fire.”
“No more than that?”
“You need not worry. We have a long way to go.”
I looked into the darkness. “Is the whole swamp like this?” I asked.
“I was told there are many small, solid islands. They’re here, there. Can you see now why I didn’t want to go alone? What happened to you could—will—happen to me. You’ll save me then.”
“The ones who told you about the maroons, did they say where you would find them?”
“Miles west. It’s all secret.”
I reached for my pocket only to find it torn. Moreover, Charity’s lace bit was gone. It was as if I were struck in the chest. And here I was in the swamp moving away from her, with no idea if I would ever reach that Philadelphia. I said nothing to Bara. What could I say? Though I told myself I should be content to breathe, it couldn’t feel that way.
Bara stood up. “We need to keep going.”
I gazed into the darkness. “Now?” I asked.
“Be better by day. But—”
“But what?”
“Day will mean we can see better but the other way is true, too: we’ll be a lot easier to see.”
I continued to sit. “How are we to go?”