There were few things Mariah enjoyed more than seeing things, in all their rich detail. She was especially fond of finding patterns in nature and reveling as much in the beauty of the natural world as in masterful works of art in any form. The darkness, by the simple virtue of the lack of physical light, stole much of the vibrant dimension of color from Mariah’s sight, so when she saw Nana for the first time in nearly twenty years she wasn’t sure she believed what she saw.
Nana — Kasha, Mariah realized — remained where she stood, just far enough away that any human would never have seen her in the dim light. She stood straight, and her elegantly simple, flowing dress hung down to her ankles, and her long, pale hair hung loose to her knees. She held her head high, her eyes sparkling with life and her face unworn by the passing years.
For a long time, neither moved. Nana looked down at her from the distance as if appraising her, unsure if she could be trusted. As you should, Mariah hissed, as rage rose up inside her. The memories filled in. Nana had pushed her toward Sophus, every time she had thought to turn back. Nana had shown her Miguel’s death, and then turned around and filled her with hope that he was still alive. When Mariah had realized that her place was with her son, Nana had stolen her infant from her, lied about his death, and then when Mariah was at her most vulnerable, Nana had pushed her into Sophus’s path. But why?
Grinding her teeth, Mariah recalled the ways Nana had manipulated her all those years ago, but she needed her help now. Mariah sensed that if she moved wrong, if she moved at all, Nana would disappear back into the night, and she might never see her again. The thought that this last chance to stop the pain, to understand why she was here might disappear, filled her with despair.
“Why?” Mariah finally broke the silence, but so quietly that Nana should not have been able to hear.
“Because I had to,” she replied in a quiet voice that carried to Mariah’s ears as though Nana were standing beside her. “The same as you.”
“Because I had to?” Mariah’s voice quavered. “You betrayed me. You sent me to my death.”
“I had no choice.” Nana still sounded as though she might flee at any moment, though her body appeared relaxed.
“There is always a choice,” Mariah cried out, holding back the hysteria.
“Just as there was for you and the men whose lives you ended?”
Ice swept across Mariah’s rage, smothering it. “I had no — I couldn’t — Sophus, he … forced me.”
“There is always a choice.” Nana spat her words back at her.
Mariah swallowed her anger and bowed to the woman. “I have need of your assistance, Old One.” She hoped desperately that Nana would still be there when she looked up. Despair washed over her as she realized her only hope for understanding what was going on, her only hope for guidance, her only real connection to her past, might not want to help.
“I don’t know what to do! Nana, please help me,” she pleaded, her eyes still on the ground.
Silence filled her ears as an eternity passed away waiting for something to happen. Mariah longed to crumple to the ground, for her human frailty to allow her to give in to her despair, but after two decades she knew that her body did only what her mind commanded. Mariah longed to curl up and cry, but after so long she knew that there would be no tears, nothing — a hollow emptiness rather than any sense of solace. No, she would not give in. She would remain as she was, prostrate, begging a strange old woman for assistance. She had nothing but time.
Another eternity passed away, and Mariah realized she had begun crying anyway, though no tears stained her face and no sound came from her mouth. The first set of carefully constructed barriers that Mariah had built around herself burst, and she was flooded with all the emotions she had been hiding from for nearly a decade. Her soul cried out in pain, anguish, and hopelessness. Her body did not move, but mentally she pulled in on herself, holding her arms around her sides, kneeling and bent over on the ground oppressed by the weight of bloody guilt that covered her. There was no help, there was no hope, there was no redemption. No path to follow, no future to reach, nothing but pain and regret. She was alone and she always would be.
A warmth under her chin tilted her face upward. Mariah lacked the will to resist or the life to raise her eyes. But her eyes were not closed and, try as she might to avoid it, she could not hide from her body. She could not stop Nana’s hand, lifting her face.
Conflicting emotions warred within Mariah. Anger that she had been pulled from her solitude, shame that she had shown her anguish, but most of all, fear. Fear that, if she dared to hope, Nana would see her for what she was. She would see the blood that covered her, the shadows that stalked her, and tell her that she deserved loneliness and the despair. She did deserve it; of course she deserved it. Without looking at her, Mariah drew carefully away from Nana, stood and turned away. Where do I go from here? she wondered briefly. It didn’t matter, so she began walking.
“Where do you think you are going?” Nana said in that familiar tone. The voice swept over Mariah, touched her, woke her up. It was the voice of the one who had reared her, taught her lessons, cautioned her, befriended her, argued with her, loved her. Mariah stopped and turned back, unable to lift her eyes from the ground, a child facing a scolding.
“Nowhere,” she said, her heart still filled with hopelessness.
“Well, stop sulking, child, it doesn’t become you at all,” Nana chided. Mariah couldn’t help but smile at the familiar reprimand, her heart lifting ever so slightly. “That might be better, but I wouldn’t know, the way you keep staring at the floor.”
Mariah couldn’t help the smile that pulled at her lips and she looked up at the familiar face of her old nursemaid. My oldest friend, she realized suddenly.
“Well, come give me a hug,” Nana grumbled, holding her arms out, and Mariah rushed into their welcome embrace. Nana grunted at the impact. “Really, old as you are now, and I still have to tell you what to do. I leave you alone for a little while and all your manners go to the dogs. Good heavens, girl, I teach you all I know, and you still don’t know anything.”
“Just goes to show how much you know,” Mariah said to Nana’s shoulder, comforted by the familiar banter. She had been so alone for so long, Nana’s arms were like coming home.
“Well now, that’s about enough of that,” Nana said, pulling away from Mariah’s embrace. “We have much to talk about, and it’s best done someplace other than here.” Mariah nodded and meekly followed as Nana strode away.
“Won’t we be missed at the festivities tonight?” Mariah asked, as Nana settled herself on a cushioned seat. They were in a little hut hidden away by itself, a good distance from the village. Nana lit a fire and bustled about, giving Mariah time to compose herself. She watched Nana move with grace and ease that spoke nothing of the aches or pains that afflicted Wuchii and Iráma.
“No. They will all assume you are with me, and those that still believe will be celebrating.” Nana leaned back in her chair and Mariah watched as the firelight danced across her face. There was something different about her, something Mariah was having a hard time pinning down.
“But why?”
“I thought you would understand by now.” Nana sipped from the cup she held in her hands. “You remember the legend I told you of the Slaver and the Noble One?”
“Of course I do. The Slaver was Theron, who came here and enslaved and killed your”—Mariah stopped herself and smiled, it had been so long since she allowed herself to tell the truth about her heritage—“our people. Then Sophus came and made a deal with our ancestors. If once a month a sacrifice was made to Theron of a dying man, and if our discontented or unhappy women would go to live with Sophus, then he would free our people from Theron. We agreed, and somehow Sophus convinced Theron to let him remove all his limbs, then hid them away. But we were deceived as well, and, in the end, we traded one master for another.”
“Sophus stole Theron’s limbs?” Nana asked, surprised.
“I never knew that, though I suppose it explains how he keeps Theron from attacking him. Do you know what he did with them?”
Mariah nodded. “They’re torn apart and hidden in his cave. I’ve one small piece, and I have an idea on how to destroy it, but … I don’t think they can be destroyed without Theron knowing.” Mariah felt her spirits lifting again as Nana gave her a thoughtful look. Mariah continued. “But you haven’t answered my question yet. Why are they celebrating?”
“What do you remember of your previous life?” Nana asked.
“I remember my father, that dog I used to have, and some childhood experiences still stand out. Things come to me in waves, sometimes. For example, I couldn’t remember you specifically until I saw you. It’s so frustrating to know that there might be more that I just don’t recall. Most of the time though, it feels like memories of memories. What I remember most clearly, though, is Miguel. Miguel and Álvaro ….”
“I told you once, long ago, of a legend among our people. You might style it a prophecy, that tells of the end of our captivity to these … creatures,” Nana practically spat out the word, and Mariah lowered her eyes to the flames to hide her shame at being one of those very creatures. Did Nana feel as betrayed as Mariah did?
“What did it say?” Mariah asked, hoping to draw attention away from what she was.
“The prophecy — made by an ancestor of yours, actually, a woman by the name of Ka’í Zyanya — states that there will rise a woman with the ability to wield the power of the spirit world. She will destroy these slavers, freeing our women and brave men, and saving our children from suffering the fate of those who went before them.”
“And everyone thinks that I am that woman?” Mariah asked skeptically.
“Maybe so, maybe not,” Nana said with a shrug. “But there is a family whose firstborn of the firstborn, going back generations beyond remembrance, is always female. It is said that, when that line is broken, when the firstborn daughter’s firstborn is a son, she will free us.”
“The Forever line,” Mariah said slowly. ‘Forever’ in Wayuunaiki is ‘zyanya ….’
“The name that had passed from mother to daughter for countless generations,” Nana said. “The name your mother Ayelen Cordova Zyanya had passed to you. Mariah Álvarez Zyanya.”
“And my firstborn was a son, breaking the line,” Mariah said. Nana nodded.
“You are the sign that they have waited for, the sign that she will come who will free us all.”
“Is that why you stole him from me?”
Nana sighed and passed her hand through her platinum hair, letting it fall around her face. “I never wanted to hurt you. When Muusa lost her son while you were sick ….” Nana shook her head with a pained expression.
Mariah was struck by the realization that this was the first time she had seen wrinkles on the woman’s face. In fact, Nana looked almost youthful; it was her eyes and her expression that aged her.
“I keep forgetting that you’ve changed,” Nana continued. “I keep forgetting that you’re not the girl you were the last time I saw you. You’ve grown; you’ve changed in ways I can’t imagine. But I think, in the ways that truly matter, you’re the same woman you’ve always been. At least, I hope that you are.”
Mariah’s guilt beat against the flimsy wall she’d built, and she shored it up with her rage. “I want to know what really happened. Why did you lie to me? What part do you have in all this that was so important that you would betray me?” Her heart filled her throat with the pain of it. “And what is so special about you that everyone calls you ‘Old One?’”
Nana sighed and leaned back in her chair, sipping her drink. “When we left, or rather when you decided to go in search for Miguel, I would have had you wait until your son was born. To have arranged for his care, but you would not. You had to leave immediately, against all advice, thinking yourself unconquerable. I had to come, not only because you had no idea where you were going or what you were going to do or even because you would not have lasted more than a few days on your own. I had to come because you were my responsibility. I have always looked after the women of your line.”
“And what of my son?” Mariah struggled to keep her voice level.
“You had decided to return, to quit and avoid your destiny. You are our final hope and I have waited for you for centuries.” Nana looked into Mariah’s eyes, a hope for understanding clear in them. “I saw an opportunity and I took it.”
“That is no excuse for the pain you put me through!” Mariah stood, knocking over her chair. “How long were you plotting this? Tell me, the birth sickness I had, was it real or did you poison me?”
“I did no such thing,” Nana said, calmly regarding Mariah from her seat. “You truly fell ill, and Álvaro was so weak at first. It seemed the answer to everyone’s problems when Muusa offered to care for him when her son passed on.”
“Why could you not have talked to me instead? Reasoned with me? Did you truly have to ruin my life and the life of my son without so much as —”
“And how many lives has he ruined?” Nana’s calm voice overpowered hers, bitterness making it hard and cold. “How many lives of your people does it take to equal the value of your own? How many generations of broken families? How many centuries of murders? How many, Mariah, have to pay so that you could turn a blind eye and deaf ear and live your happy, peaceful little life with your son?”
The silence between them was full as Mariah returned heavily to her seat. She looked up at the stars through the window and wondered at their numbers, and at the numbers Nana had spoken of.
With a sigh, she turned back to Nana. “So you’re telling me that you are some kind of immortal?”
“Would that be so hard to believe?” Nana asked with a smile. “Aren’t you one such yourself?”
Mariah scowled, but perhaps it was true. Why not? Though she had not believed it was possible in her previous life, she herself was proof of it. Yet there was something that bothered her. “I remember thinking you were so old. I remember you eating, even now you drink, and I can hear your heart beat. You are not like us.”
“You’re quite right,” Nana smiled enigmatically. “Like a ring, only things which have no beginning have no end. To everything else, to everything with a beginning, there is an end. Both Theron and Sophus began once and so they will one day meet their end, as will you, Mariah. Likewise, I, too, will one day die. My heart beats and some day something will cause it to stop. I don’t know what that something will be, but I do know that it will not be time.”
“You mean that, if you are to die, something will have to kill you?” Mariah asked. When Nana nodded she continued, “But wouldn’t that mean you’re not really immortal?”
“It would indeed, but neither are you, Mariah. Nor Sophus, nor Theron, nor any of them.”
Mariah chewed on that for a moment. So there really was hope that she could free herself and Miguel from their captors. She would just need to find the way. Suddenly a new question came to mind.
“Tell me honestly, Nana. Did you send me to Sophus because you really believed he could help me rescue Miguel, or did you send me there just to free your people?”
Nana did not answer, and as the silence stretched out, another thought fell into place for Mariah. “You knew, didn’t you? You knew what was waiting for Miguel there, that he would meet his death. You knew that Sophus would not have done anything to stop it.” Mariah shook her head.
“Yes,” Nana said softly, “I knew what fate awaited Miguel, and I knew that, had he not already met it, Sophus was unlikely to intervene. But I had hoped that he might try. If anything could have been done, Sophus was the only one who could do it. Truly, I am sorry for your loss, child.”
“I am not a child!” Mariah’s anger pushed its way forward again. “So you figured that most likely Miguel was already lost, and subsequently, you just sent me out there in the hopes that I would, what? What could a mortal have possibly done against someone like him
? He could have crushed my head with the flick of his finger. Do you have any idea the strength we possess? Did you just send me there to die, like every other woman there?”
Despair crept back into her voice as she asked, “Why couldn’t you have just sent me home to live with my son?” Mariah turned her face away so that Nana could not see the anguish in it.
“Perhaps I ought to have done more to turn you back, to convince you to await the birth of your son, or even wait until he was grown. It seems it would not have changed anything, and would have given you his childhood,” Nana said softly. “But you were so driven. Every night you dreamt of Miguel, and it pushed you on. I should have taught you more of the dream world, how to use it, how to control it. I should have tried harder to tell you of your heritage when you first discovered your mother was mestizo.”
“And so you came to me afterward to teach me,” Mariah said. “Is that why you didn’t tell me who you were, when I didn’t recognize you?”
“Yes. I was afraid you would reject me then, and there is so much that you must learn. Where you have only been walking in the world of dreams for a few years, I have been doing it for lifetimes.”
Mariah snorted. Nana had taught her how to navigate the dream world, but she still had not shown Mariah what she really wanted to know: how to destroy her captor. She wasn’t even sure Nana could actually see the future. But then again, the night Miguel had left on his ill-fated journey ….
“The night my dream told me of my father’s death I asked Miguel to go search for him, and you … You said I mustn’t go.” Then it dawned on her. “But you weren’t talking of me, saying I mustn’t go. You were saying he shouldn’t leave.”
“It was for both of you.”
“And it wouldn’t have changed a thing, would it? If we had listened, and he had stayed home. My father would still have died. The rebellions would still have happened, except that we would still be home, together —” Mariah’s voice caught as the possibilities spun through her mind, of the years they’d lost, the memories never made, the children they might have had ….
Aeonian Dreams Page 20