by Taylor Hobbs
We can travel unnoticed, but what are we supposed to do once Bieito runs out of food? Or had he counted on the fact that by being a pilgrim, they would get most of what they needed provided for them?
“Is the small pack in order to look the part, or is the major plan to actually rely on “God’s will” and “providence” to feed us for the next few days?” Remy asked, as she polished off the last bite of her snack.
“Both,” Bieito confessed. “Though with the coup happening and the Spanish forces mobilized into Galicia, I was not completely sure if it would be as effective as last time. The Camino still provides, though, through it all.”
“Oh yeah. Your original Camino de Santiago journey. How long ago was that?”
“I decided to take my pilgrimage after my mother died. It also started out for selfish reasons, as a way to escape my father’s grief and the responsibility of taking care of Lino. My actions were regrettable as a young man, and it is difficult for me to talk about my pilgrimage. I felt like an impostor.”
“Much like what we’re doing now.”
“I gained some peace on my journey, and an insight to myself and the world surrounding us, but”—Bieito hung his head—“it had nothing to do with religion. I did not feel closer to God. In fact, I had almost reached the Compostela when I turned around.”
“Why?” Remy couldn’t imagine traveling all that way and not crossing the finish line.
“I realized that reaching the end and entering the church would not bring me purpose or closure, it did not hold the answers I sought. Other people returned from their pilgrimages more pious and holy than ever. I wondered if something was wrong with me.”
Remy reached for his hand, and their steps stumbled for a moment, and then continued. “Does your family know?”
“By the time I returned home, my father had started to emerge from his grief, thanks in part to stubborn Lino, who refused to be ignored.” Bieito gave a wry smile. “Leaving ended up being a good thing for my family, but I still regret abandoning them.”
“You were in a bad place, too. You had just lost your mother. You can’t take care of other people until you take care of yourself. Don’t burn yourself to keep others warm.”
“The village still judged our family for my mother’s lack of Christian burial. But when I returned from the Camino, it was as though I had redeemed my family in their eyes. I wanted life to be good for my father and brother, so I lied about a great religious experience. I used the Camino to run from my family and lied about what I truly experienced on the journey to gain others’ approval. In the end, I felt so much shame. I have wanted to try the journey again, with a more open mind and with fewer expectations, but now…”
“You feel like you are doing the same thing all over again,” Remy said. “But did you ever think that maybe your original experience was still valid? You say you felt like a failure for not having the same experience as everyone else. But maybe you were on your own path, and you got what you needed out of the journey, even if it wasn’t what you expected.” A light bulb went off in Remy’s head. “It was the path. The walk itself. The Camino holds the magic, not the church.”
A crazy thought occurred, and her first instinct was to squash it. It made no rational sense. The Camino had a long history of the inexplicable. What if that magic had been there all along, and had merely been adopted into religious Christian doctrine? Saint James was credited with bringing Christianity to the Iberian Peninsula, or so Sebastian had told her. What if he had just tapped into what was already there, as a tool to convince others to convert?
It was convenient to use religion as a way to explain the paranormal that happened along this path, a vein of the fantastical running through the earth. This vein, however, had been there long before James ever walked it. He just came along and gave it explanation, and people who had previously shied away from the unknown were able to embrace it once it had “rules.”
From then on, any strange happening on the Camino was seen as a religious miracle and as evidence for a Christian God, mounting evidence that His presence was here on earth. As word spread and more people walked in hopes of experiencing their own miracle, how many were made up and then used as propaganda to draw future believers? The rest had been hype, and now the real truth about the Camino had been lost and buried among the false claims and doctrine.
Maybe the miracles had been rarer in reality, only affecting a chosen few, possibly even messing with time and space. Maybe there were people who were more sensitive to it and could tap into the weirdness that was this part of the world. If that was true, then was Remy one of these special people?
The sweat on her skin turned ice cold at the thought. Just how long had she been influenced by it? Since landing in Spain? Since living at the village? Her whole life? Was this Camino shaping her path and her identity, manipulating her for its own gain?
The farther she walked along this path, the more familiar it seemed. Her sense of déjà vu was so overwhelming that Remy could picture what was around each bend before they reached it. Sebastian had said that she was the Milagro de Santiago her village had been waiting for. The miracle it needed to restore itself to its former glory and save itself from ruin.
This train of thought was beyond Remy’s realm of understanding, as well as the ability to prove any of these conjectures. She doubted they would sound halfway reasonable if said out loud. However, there was something about this path that was more than meets the eye. Maybe I’m just stretching to try to find an explanation that encompasses everything that has happened to me. Blaming it on the Camino is pretty convenient.
The Camino granted miracles. What was a miracle, if not a wish? Could her wishes be considered “miracles?” Was it possible that only the good part of the Camino’s miracles had been documented, while the karmic balance and negative effects had been ignored? Maybe nobody had ever linked the two together before, because the Church didn’t want the bad publicity.
Whatever Remy’s link with the Camino was, it was obvious that the closer she was to it, the stranger her life had become. Walking right on top of it now—well, Remy could feel a pulsing beneath her feet. It felt neither sinister nor good, it just was. And it was powerful. Here long before she arrived and would still be here long after she was gone. Eternal.
In her periphery, Remy caught impressions and glimpses of buildings and objects that disappeared once she turned to look at them closer. Movements startled her, just out of clear sight, like the intruder in the orchard. It happened so fast it felt like a car speeding past her. She clutched her head, unable to focus on what was there versus not there. Her legs felt like lead, her feet ached, and the sun was now right overhead. They had been walking for over ten hours.
“Remy?” Bieito’s voice broke through the pain. “Are you all right? You were just fine a second ago…are you faint?”
“I think I need to sit down.”
“Can you make it to the tree up ahead? We can rest there until you feel better. Here, drink some water.” He handed her the flask and took her elbow, gently steering her off the main path and to an ancient tree waiting to embrace them in its shade.
Remy had never perfected the art of walking and drinking and spilled quite a bit down her front as she swallowed deep gulps.
“I pushed too hard this first day,” Bieito said. “We should have stopped an hour ago. I just kept thinking, a little bit farther―”
“Don’t worry about it.” Remy waved him off, already feeling her head clear in the cool shade. “I felt that same push, too, like we were being urged forward. But now that we’ve stopped, I can’t focus on anything other than my feet!”
“Sit, sit,” Bieito urged, helping Remy lean back against the broad expanse of tree trunk. “Sleep if you need to. I will take the first watch.”
Though her brain wanted to protest, her body had other ideas. She sighed gratefully and felt her eyelids droop. It had been the longest, weirdest twenty-four hours of her life. But I guess
this is my life now. The goal of an art school seemed unreal, like a long-ago dream. So did the memories of Jack and Anita. Even Maggie and Sebastian seemed like pieces of a story she could no longer remember. Nothing else seemed as important as being here, in this time, with Bieito, on the Camino. The path hypnotized her. It pulled her forward, the singular point of focus in her world.
She felt Bieito’s tense posture beside her as he guarded the camp, somehow immune to fatigue. I’m slowing him down. She bet that Bieito would walk for days and nights straight to get to his brother, and sitting down was driving him crazy. He needed to rest, though, because they would be no use to Lino if they arrived in Carral half-dead on their feet.
Remy hadn’t even realized she’d fallen asleep until the warm crackle of a fire woke her up. Her butt was completely numb, legs splayed out in front of her at an odd angle. Bieito had covered her with his traveler’s cloak, though, and was now crouched in front of the small fire he had started for their supper.
“I have a gift for you,” he said, sensing that she had woken up before she even moved. Remy wiggled her toes, feeling pins and needles shoot down her legs as she tried to get the blood flowing again. Sleeping the afternoon away had done wonders for her mind and cleared her confusion, but now she felt every single mile they had traveled in all of her muscles, some of which she wasn’t aware even existed until that moment.
“Ow,” she groaned, as she struggled to move. The promise of a present was the only thing that motivated her to get up. Her curiosity was just too great. The last time Bieito had given her a present, it had been the gorgeous dress that she’d subsequently destroyed beyond repair. Hopefully this one is more durable.
He dangled it on the edge of his fingertips toward her. It swung in the firelight, casting a pendulum shadow on the ground. A scallop necklace.
“I just finished boring the hole. It is a little rough, and I wish I had nicer leather for it—”
Remy had already closed the distance between them and snatched it out of his hand. “I love it!” Unlike Bieito’s pure white shell that had been bleached by the sun, this one looked fresh out of the ocean. Each ridge of the shell held multiple shades of purple and pink that swirled together. The shell was so beautiful in and of itself that the necklace needed no other ornament. Bieito had strung a thong of the supplest brown leather through the hole at the base where the waves radiated outward.
“Will you please put it on for me?” Remy asked. She pushed her hair aside and Bieito walked behind her. He placed the necklace around her throat, and it fell perfectly into the hollow at the base of her throat.
“How does it look?” she asked. “As good as yours?”
“Much better than mine, mi amor. You make a simple piece of jewelry look beautiful.”
“Now I’m official, right?”
“Yes, anyone we come across will assume we are pilgrims. We belong to the Way of Saint James now.”
Chapter Thirteen
The next few days of walking were much like the first. Just hills, tiny farms, vast open space, and the occasional traveler. Remy and Bieito had settled into a rhythm. They mostly walked in silence, content to just be in each other’s company and conserve their energy. By the time they stopped for the night, they were both too exhausted to consider anything romantic. Remy consoled herself with the reminder that it was just for a week, then the rest of their relationship could evolve.
If Remy had been walking the Camino in modern times, she would have had a map, a guidebook, and a handy list of trendy but authentic restaurants to stop at through the little towns along the way. There would be hotels with soft beds and welcoming hosts. A place to shower. Wine and conversation in languages around the world. Remy would have just been one of many post-divorce, middle-aged women looking for answers to undefinable questions.
But on this Camino, Remy had an end goal. Her journey and purpose were definable and critical. Bieito and Remy had to make do with what they were given, whatever they could find, and the rapidly decreasing supplies from Bieito’s pack. For the most part, they had to keep to themselves.
“We are almost to Ferrol. I will get more food there,” Bieito told her on the third morning.
Remy was hoping for more than food in Ferrol—they needed information. Sure enough, when they entered the city, the place was alive with excited whispers and gossip. Word of the coup had spread to the surrounding cities in Galicia, and as far as they could tell, most people were sympathizers of Colonel Solís and his cause.
Located on the banks of the Ría de Betanzos just off the Atlantic coast, Ferrol reminded Remy of a much larger and more militarized version of Ortigueira. Shipping and fishing were obviously important to the economy here just like in Ortigueira, but there was a military air about everything in this place. The grid of wide, straight streets was unsettling compared to the meandering, narrow roads that Remy had experienced in the rest of Spain. This industrial town meant business.
As Bieito bargained for some cured meats at the butchers, Remy eavesdropped on two older men outside who could hardly contain their enthusiasm.
“He is going to declare the Reino de Galicia once again,” the man with the mustache promised.
“If anyone is going to do it, he can,” his friend agreed. “The will of the people is behind him. For thirteen years we have been under the Kingdom of Castile. Did you hear what the colonel declared?” He looked around and dropped his voice. Though he was whispering to his friend, both of them were probably a little deaf, so Remy was still able to hear what he was saying. “Long live the free Queen! Long live the Constitution! Out with the foreigners! Down with the Dictator Narváez! Down with the system of tribute!” He then slapped his hand over his mouth and blushed, as if he couldn’t believe he’d spoken the words out loud. Remy thought it was adorable, if it was technically treasonous talk.
The men stared at each other with wide eyes, then broke into two big grins. It was scary, yes, but also deliciously exciting. Changes were happening. The people were hopeful. Remy just wished she knew that there would be a better outcome for the Martyrs of Carral.
There had been no sightings of Spain’s General Narváez or his forces anywhere near Ferrol, and no reports of a coming battle yet. Citizens of Ferrol were disappointed when Remy and Bieito revealed that they were coming from the north and traveling south, rather than the other way around. All of the action seemed to be happening farther southwest, and everyone was eager for news.
Still, they were treated with hospitality as travelers of the Camino and invited to stay the night at one of the local churches. Bieito waved off their generosity and insisted that he and Remy press on. They still had time to cover more ground before dark and would hopefully find the answers they were seeking closer to the action.
Remy was relieved not to spend any more time than necessary in the brutally bare city, and she breathed more freely once they were back on the road.
“You are still convinced that we will find my brother in Carral?” Bieito asked her as the miles disappeared beneath their feet. “It seems the colonel and his people are located much closer to Santiago de Compostela. We will never make it there in time. It is at the end of the Camino.”
“No, Lino will end up in Carral. I promise. Though not for a while longer.” Remy debated with herself, wondering if she should tell Bieito the rest of the information, or if it would only worry him. We will hear about a great defeat, she wanted to say. That’s when we will meet Lino. Bieito would only want to get there to prevent Lino from even being a part of the battle. Knowing it was happening and being unable to stop it would be worse, right? Remy convinced herself to keep her mouth shut. It was better to keep Bieito in the dark about the trial of the martyrs.
Even with a secret between them, nothing could stop the couple from growing closer every day. Remy felt in tune with Bieito the way she had never connected with anyone before. Some days she felt like she could walk the Camino forever as long as Bieito was by her side. The journ
ey strengthened their bond until they could almost communicate without speaking. They took cues from each other’s body language and could share the most intimate thoughts and feelings. Remy could tell Bieito knew that there was something she was holding back, and she could also sense his desire to completely connect with her in every way possible, as if he could forcefully tear down the last barrier between them.
A lifetime of Catholic guilt prevented Bieito from giving into Remy’s more-than-obvious physical advances, and this unfortunate pattern held until their last night on the Camino.
“We will reach Carral by midday tomorrow,” Bieito told her, as Remy leaned against his legs. The fire warmed her face, and Bieito’s fingers tangled in her hair.
“That’s great,” Remy said, without much enthusiasm. It’s good. We made it. Still, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed that this was the last night on the path. Bieito must have felt her sadness, because Remy felt a tug on her hair as Bieito tipped her head backward.
He leaned over her and gave her a heart-stopping kiss, filled with the desperate knowledge that tomorrow was a new chapter for them, a dangerous page of the unknown. Their private world of two was about to be invaded as they reentered society and all of its problems. Remy felt his need to savor these last moments together.
As her lips molded to his, she felt the instant Bieito decided to cast off the imaginary shackles that kept him from acting on his desires. His hands grabbed her shoulders and he pulled her into his lap. Remy wrapped her arms around him, leaving no room for doubt in their embrace. She felt his yearning to connect, and to keep her from being torn away from him.
Remy had one thought—finally. It had been a long time since she had been intimate, since that fateful time she had seduced Jack and her life imploded. Instead of feeling any fear and apprehension, Remy just felt the compulsion to keep going. It was as though she might die if they stopped.