Captive Spirit

by Liz Fichera

  Instinctively, I took one step away from him and continued walking along the edge, pretending to survey the water. The closer to the stream, the louder my voice became. “I only need a stick. A long one will do.”

  “A thick one?”

  I lifted my hands to indicate the thickness. “Like this,” I said. “Thinner is better.”

  He extended his arms and motioned to the trees that surrounded us. “That should be easy.” His face lifted toward the treetops. They towered over us like giants. He stopped and then walked to a tree with branches that were thick and heavy with green and golden leaves. Most of the tree arched into the water. Its trunk was as white as the sand.

  “How about this one?” he asked, motioning to a low branch.

  I shook my head and then swallowed. “No. I saw sturdier ones over here,” I lied, nodding vaguely in the opposite direction. “Those branches look too soft.” I pointed to the spot where Jorge and I filled the pouches. We were still too far for me to see the shell and the sky was fading from purple to black. If I wanted my shell, I would need to cross the river.

  I continued to walk determinedly and Diego loped alongside of me, his arms waving against his sides.

  “Okay, Aiyana,” he said. “As you wish.” He was enjoying this, our time alone.

  My jaw clenched as I tried not to think about it.

  When we reached the other end of the stream, the sun had almost completely disappeared behind the trees. I didn’t have much time before the forest would be completely black.

  I picked up sticks lying in the sand, turning them over in my hands, pretending to study their thickness, their weight. But what I was really doing was squinting across the stream at the trees. The wind had almost completely died down and the branches barely moved.

  Alongside me, Diego reached down to examine several suitable sticks. “This one?” he asked me.

  I shook my head.

  “This?” he picked up another. Then another.

  Finally, I mumbled, “Yes,” as I nodded at the newest stick in his hand. “That will do.”

  Diego bent lower to remove a knife from inside of his boot that was almost as long as his calf. It was sharp and silver with a shiny handle that looked like polished stone. Another tool I’d never seen.

  Whistling, Diego began to whittle. His thick fingers were strangely agile. He carved and scraped the tip of the wooden spear as if he were a master carver like Eyota. Before I could ask him where he learned—or how he made his knife—he handed me the long, pointy stick and said, “Now, we can fish.” He handed me the spear.

  “Yes,” I said, admiring it. “Now we fish.”

  I examined the tip and touched it with my finger. It was still warm from Diego’s blade. It would make a fine weapon.

  Without a word, I untied the rabbit skins around my feet and carefully placed them on the dry sand away from the water. Then I picked up the spear and walked right into the stream, aware that Diego’s eyes never stopped watching me. The intensity of his gaze was not easy to ignore. Do women not fish in his village? I wondered.

  My toes curled instantly from the cold as soon as I waded into the water. I balanced across the rocks till I reached halfway across the stream, trying to avoid the slippery ones. The water splashed over the rocks and the fish scattered as my feet waded through them.

  “Aiyana!” Diego yelled over water. “Before it gets too dark!” He pointed to the sky.

  I turned to him and nodded. It would be so easy to keep on walking across the water and claim my shell. But run where? The other side of the river only led higher up the unending mountain. And all that I had was a sharpened stick and a small pouch of water hidden in my deerskin that wouldn’t last me more than three moonrises. I needed more.

  I needed a smarter plan.

  And where was my white shell? I looked from Diego and then back to the trees again, frantic. The shell was missing and suddenly I wondered if I had ever seen it at all.

  “A fish!” Diego yelled impatiently, his hands cupped around his mouth. “The men are hungry. I’m hungry. We all must eat soon!” His voice competed with the rush of the water.

  My eyes turned from the trees to the water and in one, quick motion, I thrust my stick into the water. When I lifted it, a glistening fish as long as my forearm flapped on the end. I turned to show Diego, swallowing back my tears.

  Diego clapped.

  As I waded closer to Diego, I thought I saw branches rustle out of the corner of my eyes, except there was no wind. The tree that rustled was the same one that held my white shell. I was certain of it. Almost certain.

  ***

  When Diego and I returned to the fire, there were three fat fish hanging from my spear, pierced down their middles.

  Diego removed the heads with his knife, slicing open their bellies to reveal pink and white skin. Their insides glistened as much as their outsides. Without having been told, I laid two of the fish inside the cooking pot as Alfonso and Diego tended to the horses. The pot rested on rocks inside the fire. The fish began to sizzle almost immediately and the oily aromas watered my mouth.

  On another rock inside the fire, someone—I presumed Jorge—laid out five agave leaves. I recognized the pale green stalks immediately and drew back an excited breath.

  Why had Jorge been so helpful? Were the agave leaves a message? Or was he simply hungry?

  At least there was something growing in the World Beyond that I recognized, something that could sustain me for the journey home, and perhaps Jorge had meant for me to understand that. I could eat the agave roasted or raw, if I had to. I could suck its leaves for water. The discovery energized me.

  I resumed cooking the fish, feeling lighter.

  I peeled back the agave husk and ground a pinch of the skin with my fingers. Then I added it to the pot to sweeten the fish, exactly as Gaho taught me. I placed two of the longest leaves in the fire and waited for them to roast.

  “Where did you find this?” I asked Jorge with mock disinterest, touching one of the leaves so that he’d understand me. The ends hadn’t even begun to curl in the fire. From the other side of the fire, Jorge looked up at me with expectant eyes while his fingers fiddled with the holes of his flute. I knew he had been watching me cook; I knew he heard my words. He understood.

  But Jorge said nothing, although he nodded over his shoulder to a wide patch of thick trees. Then he returned to his flute, his eyes studying me when he thought I didn’t notice.

  Good, I thought to myself. If there is one plant that I can eat then there must be more.

  When Jorge examined the holes in his flute, I stuffed the smallest agave behind my belt and tightened the cord. Lobo sat beside me again, his eyes darting between me and the fire as he panted. While the fish cooked in the pot, I broke off a boneless corner, blew on it, and then offered the chunk to Lobo. He accepted the piece hungrily, licking the oils on each of my fingers in the process, before rising to hunt for something more substantial.

  By the time Diego and Alfonso returned, the two fish in the pot were ready. I sprinkled them with more roasted agave and dried meat. The men ate the fish, barely pausing between bites. Small bits of white fish stuck to their beards. I tried to ignore them as they slurped the remaining morsels between their fingers. I would eat part of the third fish, the last one to be cooked. If none of the men finished it, I planned to stuff it down my dress along with my deerskin water pouch.

  Then it was Diego’s turn to watch me cook.

  He sat back against one of the deerskin sacks, one hand on his belly. I kept my eyes focused over the pot, ignoring him. “You cook as well as you fish,” he said, dragging his other hand over his mouth. “I’m impressed. How old are you?”

  I pretended not to understand.

  “Age?” he prodded.

  “Sixteen harvests,” I said in my most disinterested voice.

  But Diego laughed, as if I’d just said something funny. Beside him, Jorge began to play his flute. I was grateful for the dis
traction.

  “And who taught you to cook? The same person who taught you to fish?” Diego’s eyebrow arched curiously.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  He leaned forward. “Who taught you to fish?”

  “My friend,” was all that I would tell him.

  He chuckled. “Does your friend have a name?” he teased again in that voice that said we shared a familiarity with each other. We shared nothing.

  I sat back on my heels and tentatively raised my eyes to him. It felt strange sharing details about my village, my world—even my best friend—with a captor. I wouldn’t do it. My life belonged to me, not Diego. “I should take this pot to the river and clean it,” I said, avoiding more questions. I rose to my feet, eager for distance between us, and started for the river.

  But Diego grabbed my wrist just as I was about to pass. His hand was rough like the rope against my skin. “This time don’t go far, Aiyana,” he said as his grip tightened. Before he released me, he whistled for Lobo. Lobo came barreling from the forest, his tail wagging, his tongue dangling sideways out of his mouth. “Follow,” Diego ordered. Lobo sprinted to my side and accompanied me down to the stream.

  The half-moon that glowed between the treetops provided enough light for me to reach the water without stumbling. The moon twinkled in the water’s reflection. The closer I got to the water, the softer Jorge’s flute became, although I was certain that Diego’s eyes still tracked me, even through the darkness. The way he looked at me tightened my stomach in knots. And it was getting worse, not better.

  I had to get away from him—from all of them. Soon.

  Kneeling in the sand beside the water, I removed the rest of the fish from the cooking pot and wrapped it in agave leaves. There was only enough left for one more meal. That was all I needed. I stuffed it down the front of my dress beside the water pouch, and then I cupped the cold water in my hand, drinking it greedily, before splashing it over my face. My body shuddered from the shock.

  “Aiyana!” Diego yelled. His voice, like Jorge’s flute, was small in the distance and muffled by the water’s roar. “Aiyana!” Like a snare that wouldn’t release, his voice fell over me.

  I clumsily submerged the pot in the water, letting the current wash out the leftover bits of fish skin and bones. I looked up again at the Sky Wanderers that brightened the trail back. I searched for the long tail of silvery and white that always pointed toward my village. Soon, I promised myself, I would follow it.

  Thanks to food and enough water, I felt strong again. I could escape. And I could not fail.

  Reluctantly, I returned to my captors.

  Somewhere in the trees, a dove cooed. I stopped to listen for it just before I reached the fire.

  Strange, I thought, cocking my head and waiting for it to sing again. I hadn’t heard a single dove since the night I was taken from my village, only hawks and grackles.

  Jorge’s flute quickly drowned it out.

  Chapter Ten

  After stuffing themselves with fish and agave, Alfonso and Jorge fell asleep immediately, their faces covered by the wide brims of their hats. As usual, Alfonso snored the loudest.

  Instead of sleeping alongside them on the opposite side of the fire, Diego insisted on sleeping beside me. He didn’t ask, really, he just lay down next to me. Close. Uncomfortably close.

  I curled away, bringing my knees close to my chest, and covered my exposed neck and shoulders with the deerskin sack as best I could.

  And then, very deliberately, Diego draped his arm across my shoulder. The heaviness from his hand and the scent of his skin made breathing difficult. The closeness of his body threatened to choke me. I was too afraid to speak. And what did it matter if I did?

  When his fingers brushed my cheek, nausea began to build deep in my throat. His face nuzzled against my neck and he began to whisper my name so only I could hear. “Aiyana…” he exhaled. “Aiyana of sixteen harvests…”

  I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

  But he knew that I could hear him.

  Worse, I feared he would discover the food and water pouch hidden inside the front of my dress.

  And so, I lay next to him on the cold ground, barely breathing, till my side ached and my arm turned numb. I was too petrified to tremble.

  Instead, I watched the Sky Wanderers move across the sky, counting them. I listened for Lobo, for the horses—anything to forget Diego’s arm draped so casually across my shoulder. In my head, I tried to hear my mother’s voice again so that I could drown out Diego’s whispers. I begged her for strength—her strength—and squeezed back the tears when I pictured her face.

  Finally, when the fire next to our feet had gone almost completely cold, Diego began to snore against my neck. Not as loud as Alfonso, but the air from Diego’s mouth sputtered between his lips in ragged bursts. His breath parted my hair.

  I waited till I was certain he was asleep. It seemed to take forever. Then, very carefully, I began to pull away. I only moved a hair’s width at a time, barely noticeable, until finally Diego’s hand slid gently to the ground. When it did, I waited for him to stir, wondering what I’d say if he did. Mercifully, he did not and I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment to give thanks to Hunab Ku.

  Still, I was anxious to begin my escape. There wasn’t much darkness left in the sky. And as soon as a hint of light appeared, I would run.

  Without a sound, I rose to my knees and then my feet, cringing when my knees cracked. Too exhausted, none of the men stirred; not even the horses whinnied. Finally standing, my eyes searched the darkness for my wooden spear. I had laid it alongside a rock next to the fire. It wasn’t much of a weapon, unless I needed to spear more fish, but it was sharp and better than running through a dark forest empty-handed. I gathered all the bravery that I could muster and then reached for my spear with a clammy hand. It was still warm from resting near the fire.

  On tiptoe, I crept away from the fire. Only embers burned in the middle. Taking small steps, I walked to the edge of our camp, holding my breath. When I reached the edge, I allowed myself the tiniest of breaths, felt for the few small provisions hidden in the front of my dress, and then I began to run, slowly at first, and then faster when the cold air became unbearable. For once, I was glad that Lobo had not returned to sleep beside me. With him at my heels, escape would have been impossible.

  The further from the men, the darker the forest became. Light from the Sky Wanderers penetrated the trees in haphazard streaks of silver and white. I ran almost blind with one hand extended, pushing back branches that poked and scratched my arms like cactus needles; in my other hand, I clutched the spear so tightly that it threatened to break in two. The only noise was my own ragged breathing and the muted rush of the stream in the distance. The further I ran, the softer it became.

  Cold sweat trickled down the sides of my face as my heart beat harder inside my chest.

  But I had done it. I escaped!

  Each step took me closer to my village and further from Diego. I would gladly run for the rest of my life if I knew that he’d never place an unwelcomed hand on me again.

  I ran faster when I spotted an opening in the forest almost as big as a ball court. I remembered it from when we first entered this corner of the mountain. We had stopped the horses and listened for the stream. Over the clearing, grey-blue light from the Sky Wanderers swept across the ground like a mist, and I ran faster still, trying to outrun it.

  The ground was mostly flat but rocky in places.

  I squinted into the darkness as I ran, trying desperately to avoid the rocks, especially the bigger, sharper ones. My toe caught enough small rocks, enough to make my foot sting, but I kept on running. I had almost made it; I had almost reached the edge of the clearing.

  Almost.

  My big toe caught the edge of a rock sharp enough to make me shriek with pain. I dropped instantly. My foot went numb and instead of running, I tumbled forward once, then twice, and landed onto my back, staring up at the moon and
panting so hard that my chest threatened to burst. Somewhere in the tumble, my spear had flown out of my hand and landed against a rock.

  Despite the shooting pain in my foot, I crouched forward until I was on my knees. I put my injured foot forward and moaned when my full weight pressed on it. A few steps later, my leg collapsed underneath me. I dropped to the ground, biting down on my lower lip, cursing my clumsiness. I wouldn’t let myself stop. I couldn’t.

  But when I stood again, my head went dizzy with white light.

  Just as I was about to take a step, a cold hand wrapped around my mouth, so tight that I couldn’t breathe.

  Screaming was not an option.

  Instead, my eyes rolled backwards as the forest went completely dark and the fuzzy white light inside my head disappeared.

  I lost consciousness and didn’t feel a thing.

  ***

  A voice whispered beside my ear. “Aiyana!”

  My eyes rolled, struggling to focus. Was I back inside Diego’s arms? Was he trying to suffocate me? Torment me?

  “Aiyana!” The voice said again. The second time I thought I was dreaming because the voice was familiar.

  But the firm hand over my mouth reminded me it was no dream.

  I started to breathe through my nose in short anxious breaths.

  His voice was urgent. “Don’t scream. It’s me.”

  Still dizzy, I turned toward the voice. My eyes widened and my knees buckled. “Honovi?”

  Honovi nodded. He released his hand from my mouth, slowly, as if waiting for me to scream. When I didn’t, he let his hand rest on my shoulder, mostly to steady me. “What are you doing out here?” he whispered.

  I coughed, regaining full consciousness. “What am I doing?” I finally said with difficulty. “What are you doing here?”

  He sighed through his teeth. “There’s no time to explain. Can you walk?”