Dark Genesis (The Darkling Trilogy, Book 1)

by Koboah, A D

  “Do not worry so,” she said as she moved around the table to come and join me. “One of the farmers who comes to me for medicine has waited for you. He can only take you part of the way but it means you will be back before dark.”

  I turned to her, startled. So she had known I was coming. But how?

  “I see you still doubt my powers, Luna. But I assure you, they are real. You also have the gift. Don’t you remember when you were a child? You always knew when I was coming home. Even those times I used to sneak away during the day to be with you, I would find you by the trees waiting for me and when I would ask how you knew I was coming you told me that my spirit—yes, you said the word spirit and I would wonder who taught you that word. You said that my spirit came through the door and said hello and that is how you knew I was coming. Can you imagine my happiness at such a display of your gift? If I had been able to teach you, you would be a powerful witch by now. Maybe not as powerful as me, but powerful, yes.”

  She must have seen the disdain on my face. “Ah, but I forget you have embraced their white God so mine are of no use to you.”

  There was a trace of mockery in her voice.

  “No. Them heathen gods ain’t no good to nobody,” I said, the fire in my eyes more in response to her tone than her words.

  When she smiled this time, it revealed a flash of small white teeth.

  “It is good to see your anger, Luna. The women in our family have always been strong. Strong like stone boulders. I was beginning to think that life as a slave had crushed that strength. But no. It is still there and that makes me happy. Here.” She picked up the apples and placed them in my arms. “That troublesome boy is never far from my quarters. I am sure these will taste sweeter if you give them to him yourself.”

  “Yes, Mama,” I said, the first time that I had allowed myself to call her that.

  ***

  Mama Akosua was right. Ebenezer was not far from the cabin and seemed to have gathered a small band of other boys of various ages, all of them looking eagerly in my direction as I emerged blinking into the sunlight. I gestured to him and he came bounding to my side wearing that wide smile of his.

  “Here,” I said. “For you and your friends.” He took the bundle eagerly but then his face fell.

  “Do I has to give them some?” I couldn’t help but laugh and his smile instantly returned.

  “Yes, you do. Now go!” Mama Akosua replied, her expression so fierce it was a wonder that he was able to smile up at her before he scampered away, holding up the apples like a trophy as he rejoined the little army of raggedy boys.

  “There is a place you go to often,” Mama Akosua began as she led me away from her cabin. “I cannot see it clearly but you are always alone when you go there.”

  I tried to think of what she meant and where this line of conversation was headed but came up blank.

  “It is an old building that has been eaten by fire,” she continued.

  “The old chapel?” I said.

  I didn’t bother to ask how she knew this time. It seemed as if there wasn’t much that she didn’t know about what I did.

  “Yes. You must stay away from that place.”

  “Why?”

  She led me past the last of the slave quarters toward the front of the plantation. I noticed that she didn’t take the shortcut through the trees.

  “I sense something. A...a...shadow. Something very powerful and not of this world is making its way there so it is no longer safe for you to be there.”

  Her demeanour had changed and she walked faster as if trying to escape whatever it was that she sensed.

  “Great evil was done there a long time ago. The fire was started to put an end to it but whenever that much evil is done in a place, some of that energy lingers. Perhaps that is what keeps drawing this other... I do not know what to call it, but I have felt it a few times over the years. And I know that if you cross its path it can take you away from me completely. So stay away from that place.”

  We reached the long road leading up to the house and I saw two men on a horse-drawn wagon. Well, one of them was a man; the other was no more than a boy. They were both dressed in simple farmers’ clothing.

  “They are good people,” Mama Akosua said, no doubt seeing the fear that sprung into my eyes at the thought that I would be making this journey alone with two white men. “They are farmers and do not own slaves, so their hearts and minds have not become diseased by the evil of slavery. Even though Massa Marshall takes payment from them for my herbs, they always try and give me something too, no matter how small. They are good people. I would not trust them with you if I believed there was even the smallest chance they would harm you in any way. Besides, they know what I can do. As Massa Henry should have known that no matter how far he sent me, I would find my way back here to have my vengeance.”

  We had reached them now so she wasn’t able to say anymore, but my curiosity had been awakened by her words. What could she possibly mean by that?

  “Mama Akosua.” I was surprised to hear the older farmer call her by that name and not Alice, her slave name. “So this is your daughter. I can see that the slaves didn’t lie about how pretty she is.”

  I felt my stomach lurch at the compliment and fear cinched my heart. Thankfully I managed not to let that unease show.

  “But of course, she isn’t anywhere near as pretty as you,” he continued.

  Mama Akosua accepted the flattery with a raised eyebrow. “Hm. Your lies grow longer every time I see you, Mr Walker.”

  They all laughed good-naturedly at the joke.

  “I know your mother gets tired of me telling people this,” Mr Walker said, addressing me. “But her herbs saved my wife’s life nine Christmases ago. I’ve been coming to her ever since, and if it weren’t for the potion she gives me for my bad knee, I wouldn’t be able to work my fields and we would have starved years ago.”

  “You are too generous with your praise. And too generous with your gifts. But thank you. Maybe one day I will repay your kindness by telling you what is in my herbs.”

  “When that day comes I will happily sell you everything I own in return.” They laughed again and I smiled weakly. “Help her up, Matthew, so we can get going.”

  I accepted the work-roughened hand that the boy offered me and climbed up to sit beside him on the wagon.

  “Don’t worry, Mama Akosua,” Mr Walker said once I was sitting comfortably beside them. “We’ll take good care of her.”

  “I would trust her with no one but you, Mr Walker,” she said warmly and he nodded humbly in return.

  We said our goodbyes and as the wagon pulled away, I noticed that Ebenezer had followed us and was hiding behind one of the trees. When Mama Akosua turned around and headed in his direction, he left his hiding place and ran toward her with his arms outstretched. I felt myself tense as he neared her, as I knew that when they collided, the jolt would no doubt be painful for her. But he slowed down before he reached her and wrapped his arms very carefully around her waist as if she were made of glass. She tenderly patted him on the cheek and as they walked away I noticed that she appeared to lean on him quite heavily and that he seemed to expect her to.

  How much pain was she in and how long had it been going on?

  I felt a rush of anxiety.

  As much as I didn’t want to care about that woman, or anyone else for that matter, I did care. And it hurt to care because I was helpless to protect the people I loved. So I held my bundle of herbs even tighter as the farmer urged the horse into a brisk canter.

  I was doing the right thing, the only thing I could do about the life growing inside me. But as I looked back over my shoulder and caught sight of Ebenezer and Mama Akosua disappearing into the trees, I felt a deep sorrow settle over my heart.

  Back at Mama Akosua’s cabin I had wondered at the boy’s fearlessness. But he had shown Mama Akosua no fear because unlike me, he had been around her for a long time and knew he had no need to fear her. That kno
wledge twisted painfully in my chest. There was so much that I had already lost, even the child I had hated on sight had been a loss. And I was about to lose the one that was fruitlessly trying to survive in the warm darkness of my womb.

  Chapter Three

  The journey back passed relatively quickly and without incident. Perhaps sensing my unease at being left alone with them, Mr Walker spent most of the ride talking about anything that came to his mind: the weather, his crops, his children, his wife’s cooking, and of course, Mama Akosua’s miracle herbs and potions. His son, who sat between us, spent the journey staring at me whilst I pretended not to notice his apparent interest. It was only when his father gave him a sharp jab in the ribs with his elbow when he thought I wasn’t looking that the boy finally tore his gaze away from me. A pink flush crept up his neck to bloom on his cheeks and he kept his head down for the remainder of the journey.

  Mr Walker did more than take me part of the way home. He took me all the way to the plantation and dropped me off at the edge of the woods as the sun began to set, casting blood red streaks across the sky.

  “Thank you kindly, Mr Walker,” I said when my feet were on the ground again and the anxiety that had stolen over me during the journey had lifted.

  “My farm is just yonder,” he said pointing into the distance. “By old man Reynolds’s place. You know it?”

  I nodded, although I wasn’t sure that I did.

  “Well, if you ever need anything, come on by or send word to me. We ain’t rich folks like some of those plantation owners, but even if we can’t help, we can at least try. I’ve said the same to your mother and I know she’ll hold me to that promise. I hope you will too.”

  His words were unexpected and I had to concentrate to keep back the tears that had started burning behind my eyes.

  “Thank you, sir. God bless you.”

  He nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer, then turned the wagon around and waved me goodbye. I headed for the trees and before I entered them I glanced back and saw that his son was looking over his shoulder at me. His father glanced at him and then cuffed him lightly around the head. He laughed when his son finally tore his gaze away from me and ruffled his hair playfully.

  I dipped into the trees, and as always, broke into a run. The woods seemed to hold an extra degree of menace today with the green canopy above broken by splashes of red from the setting sun. My thoughts kept returning to images of Mama Akosua with Ebenezer and my last glimpse of Mr Walker and his son. I felt an intense loneliness course through me and without even thinking about where I was headed, I found myself running away from the main house and toward the abandoned chapel.

  As I ran I fancied that I heard Mama Akosua’s voice in my head saying, Turn back. Turn back!

  Upset even more by my silly imaginings, I pushed that voice away and ran faster. It was no wonder I thought I could hear her. Mama Akosua and Ebenezer. Mr Walker and his son. They were all I could think about. Their close bonds and all the things I was missing out on sat heavily on my heart as I raced through the woods.

  I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the fact that although she was virtually a stranger to me, I cared deeply about Mama Akosua, my mother, a woman I had seen only a handful of times since she’d been taken from me. I cared about her. But what good did this do me? What good did it do her? I was jealous of the closeness I saw between her and Ebenezer but I had no right to that jealousy because she didn’t belong to me. She didn’t even belong to herself. She belonged to Master Marshall. So I ran on.

  The chapel was a hulking, brooding structure set in a clearing at the farthest reaches of the plantation. Its exterior was a yellowed white and large sections of the stucco had fallen away to reveal the brick beneath. The windows on either side of the wooden door were broken and looked like empty eye sockets staring blindly out on the clearing. A large black cross above the front door gazed down upon me as I entered.

  The damage caused by the fire couldn’t be seen from the front of the building but inside were the charred remains of pews and a large hole in the roof at the back of the building where the flames had eaten through to the sky. No one ever came to this place as most people thought it was haunted, but I liked it here as it was the only place I could be completely alone.

  I inhaled the familiar smell of burnt wood that still hung in the air as I walked up to the remains of the altar and knelt down. It was the only area of the building that had been swept away and cleaned, something I had done years ago when I’d first found my little hiding place. Pulling up a loose floorboard, I retrieved a small, green Bible that was worn with age. It was one of Mistress Emily’s bibles. I had stolen it a few years ago. She had never used it and I’m sure that she didn’t even know it was missing, but if I were ever caught with it I would be whipped within an inch of my life.

  This Bible was my most treasured possession but every time I held it in my hands I was filled with pain because I had never been taught how to read, and so would never have the pleasure of reading the Lord’s words with my own eyes.

  I opened the Bible anyway and stared at the rows of printed words that were locked to me and instead said the bits of prayer I had memorised from the church sermons we had to attend every Sunday.

  Then I prayed out loud. I poured out all my grief. I told God that I loved Him and that although I couldn’t read the words in the Bible I held, I cherished it anyway. I told Him that although I hadn’t been able to hold onto my virtue, my body still belonged to Him and that I was pure in my heart. I prayed for forgiveness for the sin I was about to commit in killing the life that was growing within me and told Him that although it was a sin I would never be able to forgive myself for, it would be a greater sin to bring an innocent being into the hell of slavery.

  I prayed with tears streaming down my face, letting them fall on the charred floor until words left me.

  Then I placed the Bible back in its hiding place, left the chapel, and walked to the stream at the back of the building. It was nearly dark now and the sky was a dark red blotted by smoky grey clouds. Kneeling on the ground, I splashed water from the stream onto my face and then gazed at the water. There was enough light to see my reflection in the shallow stream and it filled me with rage and hopelessness.

  There were rare moments when the full horror of a female slave’s life fell on me and I felt that now when I glanced up at the woods and the path I would take back to the house. An all-encompassing despair rocked me from head to toe. I didn’t want to go back to a life of bondage. I didn’t want to go back to my quarters and drink the evil concoction which would hunt down and kill the innocent in my womb. I didn’t want to go back to a life where I saw evil practiced with ease and nonchalance, a life in which even my body was not mine to own.

  Master John had been away for the past week but when I got back to my cabin tonight and fell asleep, would I find myself jolted awake by him, his form looming over me in the pale light of the moon streaming through the open window, his male tool already awake and straining against the cotton of his trousers?

  The mere thought caused me to double over with my arms wrapped around my waist, my face close to the water and the rocks beneath its surface.

  The cause of most of my problems lay in the face that was almost lost in the watery surface now that the light was gone. I reached my hand into the stream and pulled out a large black rock. It looked as if it had split in two and the split end was as sharp as the blade of a knife. I held that rock up above my face and thought about Mama Akosua being brought to a strange land against her will at the age of fifteen. I thought about how lost and frightened she must have felt being so far from everything she knew and loved, and the strength and fearlessness she displayed when she took a blade to her own face and cut those marks into her skin. In doing so, she had honoured and held onto the customs of her people, people she would never see again. Those scars that I had previously been repulsed by and seen as part of the savage ways of her past, had given her strength. They had
been a way to take ownership of at least one part of her body and keep it forever hers.

  I would do the same thing. I would take control of at least one aspect of my life and destroy the face that drew men like Master John to me like predators to the scent of fresh blood. I would use this rock to take away the pleasure he found in looking at this face and keep him out of my bed forever.

  I brought the sharpest point of the rock down to rest in the middle of my forehead and closed my eyes. I began to apply pressure until I felt it break the skin, a point no bigger than the tip of my fingernail, and felt a warm release of blood. Strangely, I felt no pain, only exhilaration that I could finally do something to stop the terror inflicted on me by my Master.

  I was about to bring the rock down my forehead, across my nose and down my cheek, when something, some force, stayed my hand. All at once I grew cold and it felt as if the air around my wrist was alive and humming softly in tune to some sinister beat, making goose bumps spring up along my forearm.

  I pushed down with all my might but miraculously this force increased and when I felt my hand begin to move away from my face, I opened my eyes.

  I was still facing the woods and for a moment I thought I saw something amongst the trees, a sliver of something that was an almost translucent white. At the same moment I experienced a wave of dizziness that made me feel as if my mind and body had turned to water. I quickly shut my eyes but the dizziness increased and I felt myself swaying, my thoughts and emotions a confusing melee, and I heard a voice in my head. Or was it my own voice?

  That will not stop him, it said.

  My eyes snapped open when I heard a sharp crack to my right. I whirled around to trace the sound, a sharp streak of fear leaping and twisting within me. It was only when I noticed that my hand was now empty and clenched into a fist that I realised that what I had heard was the sound of the rock I had just been holding hitting one of the trees on my right. The distance to that tree was a good seven or eight metres away. Had I really thrown it that far?