“Child,” Nana said softly, “I do not know what might have been. Sometimes we are swept along by forces greater than ourselves. I do know, however, that how we direct ourselves within that force can make a difference. I have seen straw pierce boards when thrown by strong enough wind.
“I knew you would have a son, and I knew what it would bring, but I did not want it to be you who would fight Sophus. I cared for you from infancy, and your mother before you and her mother and hers ever since I was old enough to do so. I remember each of them so very clearly. Each loved their daughters so much, and I loved each of them.”
“Why? What is your obligation to us?” Mariah asked.
“My mother died giving birth to me, and it was your ancestor, Kaláira Zyanya, who took me in and raised me, who saved me from certain death, and who loved me. To her, I owed my very life, and so I gave it to her, and to her daughters until the prophecy should be fulfilled.”
It struck Mariah as very odd that the woman before her, who was older by many times than the oldest elder in the tribe and yet who looked as timelessly beautiful as the sea, had once been born. Had once been an infant, helpless, cold and hungry, dependent on a stranger’s kindness. Her heart felt a sudden yearning for her lost son, and she sent a prayer of thanks to Bethany, good Bethany, who had taken him in and loved him like her own.
“I think, perhaps, it is time to rectify that mistake,” Nana said, cutting in to Mariah’s thoughts.
“What mistake?” she asked.
“I think it is time we resumed training in the dream world,” Nana said. If Mariah’s blood had still flowed warm through her veins, she knew it would have turned cold.
“I don’t sleep.” Mariah said the first thing she could think of to deter Nana. “What use would dreams be to me?”
Nana raised an eyebrow at her skeptically. “You don’t sleep?”
“No, never.” Mariah stood and looked out the doorway of the small hut, her mind racing to find a way out. She heard Nana rise and stand behind her.
“Then why have I met with you in my dreams?”
“I don’t remember how to do it,” Mariah shook her head and walked out the door. Nana followed quietly behind.
“I know that you do,” Nana replied. “It has been many years since I have seen you there, but I know you still know. I can see you on the threshold.”
“You’re mistaken,” Mariah growled and walked faster, but Nana pressed on.
“I’ve taken you places, shown you things.” Nana grabbed Mariah’s arm and spun her around. “Listen to me, child!”
“I am not a child!” Mariah hissed and grabbed Nana, throwing her forcefully into the darkness. A loud, sickening crack rang through the darkness and cut through Mariah’s anger like a hot knife. “No!” Mariah whispered as she rushed into the darkness, dread clinging to her heart. “Not again ….” Fear twisted her stomach, fear that she had killed the only one who understood her in this world, that she had lost her only chance for hope.
She found Nana a considerable distance away, lying limp next to the large stone that she had been thrown against. Mariah dropped down next to her, holding her breath to listen desperately for breathing, for a heartbeat, for any sound to tell her Nana was not dead. No, no, no, no! You mustn’t die! I still need you! she cried out in her mind. After what seemed like an eternity she recognized the slow, rhythmic thud of a heartbeat followed by a ragged, shallow intake of breath.
“Nana!” Mariah cried, gently touching the woman’s face, and laying her on the cold ground. “Oh, Nana, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please be all right,” she said miserably, clinging to Nana’s hand. “I can’t do this on my own, I still need your help. Theron has Miguel under his control, and Elisa has convinced him she’s his wife. He doesn’t even remember that I existed. I can’t possibly free Miguel from both of them and defeat Sophus, too. Not by myself, and Iráma told me to even the odds. That’s why I came for your help; I need to even the odds. Please don’t die, Nana. I need your help.”
Mariah hung her head and sat back in the dirt, clinging to the older woman’s hand as the night wore on.
What will you give? a voice whispered in Mariah’s ear. She leapt to her feet and spun around to see who had spoken. There was no one. Mariah was alone in the dark forest with the unconscious woman at her feet. Convinced it had been her imagination, she dropped back to the ground beside Nana.
What will you give? the voice asked again, whispering in the gentle breeze that lifted Mariah’s hair from her face.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered back.
What price are you willing to pay? What sacrifice will you make to obtain your desire?
“Anything,” Mariah whispered.
Are you certain? the voice sounded sad.
“Anything,” Mariah repeated.
Then let go of your pride, let go of your body, and join me.
“I can’t.” Mariah shook her head as the gentle wind stirred the world around her.
It is the price you must pay.
“I can’t ….” Mariah repeated while in her mind she heard herself say, I won’t. She sat as the night deepened, storm clouds covering the stars. Finally the voice returned.
If you will not, then I have no reason to stay. Nana’s body took a deep shuddering breath that rattled her entire frame, exhaled, and was still, as a peal of thunder shuddered through the air. So very still. Startled, Mariah dropped the hand and stood up, shaken at the death of her friend.
“No, wait! I’ll come. Please, I’ll do it,” she said frantically, as rain began splattering on the ground. She scooped up Nana’s limp body and rushed her back to the hut, laying her near the hearth. Kneeling beside her, Mariah tentatively reached out, trying slowly to enter the dream world and feeling the way before her. What she felt were the spirits that followed her pressing forward, crowding toward her. Frantically she flung herself out, pushing her way forcefully through them and into the dream world.
Chapter 21
1761 – Guajira Peninsula
Elisa sat at her desk, chewing on her pen.
“Your ink will dry if you don’t write something soon,” Theron said irritably.
He was cranky today. Without thought, she turned and gave him a large smile. “You’re always out of sorts when you’re hungry.”
“Go back to your list.” He snorted and brushed her away. The impact on her mind made her flinch, but she knew he hadn’t meant to hurt her.
She turned back to her paper so as not to show her emotion. She’d have to wait until Miguel had his attention; then she could worry about it. Then it wouldn’t be so bad. She had a list to finish. She knew he enjoyed watching her work. It didn’t matter what she worked on, so long as it was something more interesting than staring endlessly at the walls of the cave. She’d suggested a few times early on that they take him out, let him change his view, but the backlash from such a suggestion had lasted for months. It was better not to draw attention to his … state.
That drew her mind to a different problem. What she really needed was a chance to search through Sophus’s lair, but to do that she needed to know where it was. Theron knew, but he wouldn’t take her. He said he couldn’t risk her safety. The thought that he cared so much for her warmed her cheeks and soothed the hurt she’d shoved aside. No, she’d have to be invited somehow. Perhaps, the next time she saw him, she could get him to invite her for a drink.
Smiling at her cleverness, she turned her mind back to her list, only to find that she’d nibbled her pen nearly to uselessness, and her ink had indeed gone dry. With a sigh, she closed the ink pot and cleaned up the feathery mess she’d made. Just as she finished, she heard Miguel outside.
“Dinner is here,” she chirped, smiling again at Theron. “Do you suppose he brought us a treat?”
She waited impatiently. When Theron let her hunt, she always hurried her food in, sometimes frightening them if she could. The added tang of adrenaline was always a nice bit of spice, b
ut it was as though Miguel went out of his way to make it bland. Eventually an elderly and frail man appeared, and despite his blind eyes, he held himself with pride. Maybe Miguel would let her frighten him just a little.
“He says he has a message for you,” Miguel said, anger coloring his voice as if he knew what she’d been thinking. He was so boring sometimes.
The man spoke in the unintelligible native gibberish, swaying on his feet as if he’d die before finishing. At the ponderous rate he was speaking, he probably would. Finally, he finished, and Mikhael said something to the man before lifting him gently and taking him to Theron. Elisa didn’t care; her throat was on fire and she could hear the weak, uneven beating of his heart. She held herself, tense, waiting for Theron’s signal that she could begin. He nodded to her, and she took her place beside him, joining in the meal.
“What was it he said?” she asked afterward, carefully dabbing Theron’s mouth with a napkin.
“He can tell you,” Miguel muttered, with a gesture to Theron.
“Miguel!” she cried as he flinched. “Mind your manners!”
He glared as he gathered up the remains of their meal and stalked off. Elisa turned to Theron expectantly.
“I’d much rather hear it from you, anyway. Is it good news? Do we get to go into town again?”
Theron gave her a charming smile and she squealed, throwing her arms around him.
“You’d better get that list of yours put together,” he said with a chuckle. “I can hardly wait to see what crazy things you bring back this time.”
***
Mariah stood with her head bowed in the fields just west of Maracaibo, her home. She waited, blood running from her hands, down her face, off her hair. A gentle breeze caught some of the falling drops and splattered them on the ground nearby. It smelled of rain, beautiful cleansing rain, but Mariah knew it would never rain here. She could never be free of the blood that covered her.
I came. I paid the price you demanded of me! Mariah cried out defiantly, expecting to be surrounded by the spirits of the dead. To her surprise, she found she was alone. She spun around but saw no one.
No, the voice came again, right beside her. She spun again and saw Nana, Kasha, standing beside her. There was something about the way the woman appeared here that just seemed right, as though what she saw was Nana’s true self. It was Nana, and yet it wasn’t. It was why Mariah hadn’t recognized her before. Mariah had never really known that Nana was but a part of the woman Kasha. You have only just begun to pay the price. Follow me.
Mariah followed carefully as Kasha stepped away, and the world blurred around them, refocusing into a dark night in the desert with only the light of the bonfire that had always been there, waiting for her. Mariah froze in her tracks. It was so much larger than it had been before, and the waves of heat assaulted her, even from a distance. Afraid to move forward, she looked for a way around.
The light gave relief to the objects that waited around the flames. Si’a waited, perched upon a large rock. The bird twittered and hopped, and she bowed to him, moving her eyes to his perch. The rock upon which he sat shifted in her view, and she realized it was a large stone wolf gazing longingly into the fire, waiting for something he couldn’t see. With shame, she realized she had gone through all that effort, all that work to find Miguel and then, once she’d succeeded, she had never returned. She had given up everything, her life, her child, everything to find him. Then, once found, she had abandoned him.
There were other things in the clearing about the fire, just in the darkness, unclear through the dancing shadows. Mariah became aware of a soft keening, a sad song of tragedy, weaving its way through the darkness. It was familiar but Mariah could not quite place it. Perhaps she had heard it before, sung in Sophus’s lair.
What is this? Mariah asked Kasha, who stood beside her.
The next step, Kasha answered and began to walk around the fire. Mariah tried to follow but found herself on the opposite side of the fire from both Kasha and Si’a. The song surrounded her and became more saddening, more tragic. The dancing shadows on the foliage around the clearing shifted in her view and were the spirits of the dead, dancing to the song of her sorrow. They danced as though they felt all her fear, her sorrow, as though they were trapped by her pain.
Before you is a choice, Kasha said solemnly. There is blood on your hands, and it is there by your own doing. You carry with you the souls of those you have killed, not because they wish to come with you, but because you refuse to let them go.
I do not understand, Mariah said, even as she could feel the warm blood hardening into shackles, pulling her down.
This is the next thing you must give up, Nana explained. This is part of the price you must pay to be with Miguel again. You must free yourself of the chains that keep you from progressing, the chains you created and insist on wearing. You must let them go. You must forgive yourself.
Mariah looked down at blood-red, flowing shackles, cold and heavy. She tried to walk around the flame to reach Nana, but no matter how she circled about the fire, Nana, the wolf, and Si’a remained directly across from her. With each step she took, the shadow dancers drew closer to her. She spun around and saw they were hemming her in, leaving only two paths. The first offered the way for her to follow the chains that bound her back into the darkness and lose herself. The plaintive song began to change, rising in pitch and intensity as Mariah turned toward her other option. The second path led her through the fire.
She remembered burning. She remembered very clearly the pain as the venom seared through her veins, burning away her life. Burning away her mortality and leaving her cold, unchanging, and alone. Mariah remembered all too well the burning of the lock of hair and shrank back from the rising flames. The spattering of the blood that dripped off her became a loud counterpoint to the song of life and the rhythm of the dancers’ feet.
Mariah looked back into the darkness again. There she would be alone, cold, lost. Numb. There would be no pain, no light, no changing, no dangers in the dark. No thing would touch her there. She took a step toward the darkness. No thing will touch me there … no thing, she thought and froze. Nothing awaits me there.
She turned back, once more, toward the fire, toward Kasha. What will you give?
To Si’a, with his glossy black wings and gilded chest. What will you dare?
To the wolf. They locked eyes, and Mariah saw about his neck the tu’uma stone encircled by diamonds that sparkled like stars. Saw it pulse and felt a matching rhythm in her own chest, growing courage with each beat. What is in your heart?
The song modulated again, this time toward joy and triumph, as Mariah turned once more and ran toward the white-hot flames.
Mariah burned. It was different from before and yet it was the same. Before the fire had burned along her veins, burning away each cell individually, but this fire burned through her one layer at a time. Both fires burned toward her heart. And she welcomed this one as much as she had the first. But something was wrong. She burned, but the flames did not consume; they remained burning her superficially, and they did not progress. Why? she cried out. You said it was to free me, but it is only pain!
You must let go, the wind whispered in her ear.
You must let the refining fire in, another voice swirled about her hair.
You must forgive yourself, a third voice danced in the flames.
I can’t. Mariah shook her head as a small voice in her head echoed the words, I won’t.
It is the price you must pay.
Mariah curled in on herself, wishing to give in to the pain, to just die, and again she saw the way open before her towards darkness, cool and empty. Surely she would be free there? The nothingness called to her, tempted her, but she closed her eyes to it, sobbing. After sending Miguel to his death, abandoning her son and killing all those people, she did not deserve such peace.
At her feet lay a small bundle. She reached scooped it up from the heart of the flames, and held the ch
ild to her breast. Love nudged at her heart. I am so sorry, so sorry, she sobbed as she burned, sheltering her infant from the flames.
You must let go in order to move forward, the voices in the flames gently whispered to her.
She clutched the child tighter, willing the pain from the flames to burn her, a penance for abandoning her son so many times. The echo of a voice came to her, nestling itself in her heart. The voice of her son: I used to dream that I could hear my mother singing to me in my sleep. I could never bring myself to believe that she was really gone so long as I could hear her. Sometimes I even thought I heard her when I was awake, encouraging me, and I always knew she loved me.
She had tried. Despite all that she had done wrong, Mariah had still tried to be his mother, and he had loved her for it. Determined to pay the price demanded of her, she hugged the bundle one last time before setting it back down and inhaled the scorching flames into her lungs. Finally, the last of the walls she’d built so carefully around her heart, her mind, and her soul, protecting her from the world, came crashing down as she released her hold on them. The first change was immediate; she felt a snapping and lightening as chains that had tied her down for so long were loosed, dissolving and dissipating. The burning sensation spread throughout her, but now she found it a pleasant warmth, filling her heart with peace, determination, and light.
She stood, the flames dancing about her, and inhaled again, drawing all the light and power into herself, locking it into her heart. Mariah stepped from the flames and found herself standing in the warm sun in a place she had never been before. The fire, the dancers, and the singer were all gone. Si’a, however, remained, perched before her on the head of the wolf. She bowed to him and he cocked his head, puffing out his golden chest in acknowledgment and flew away to the east. Mariah dropped down to crouch by the wolf, his green eyes full of love.
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