It looked like it was over but the big one put up one last move, stumbling forward and trying to grab the little one in a bear hug. His arms opened wide, but his opponent sidestepped him and brought down his arm across the back of the big one’s neck.
The big one dropped on his face like a felled tree.
The smaller, younger man poked the tree with the tip of his foot and when he didn’t move, he turned away, shoved the leather jacket in the pot and carried it to one of the tents. Someone rolled the big guy over, his face a bulging pulp of mashed-up skin. He groaned, and they dragged him to another tent.
We watched two more fights like this, and it became obvious this was how they settled debts and disputes.
*****
Another night passed uncomfortably. I was tied next to Joseph now, so at least I could lean on his shoulder, feel him close in some small way. The man who’d touched me before came to wish me goodnight but, with Joseph staring him down, it was blessedly brief.
The camp folded up and turned in for the night, the light smokey and cool. Joseph nudged me. “I know what to do,” he whispered.
The other heads turned towards us. “I’m glad someone’s thinking of a plan,” Rash whispered, too loudly.
I was instantly suspicious of what he might say; I stressed my hands in their bindings, which were fast turning blue from the cold and the tightness of the ropes.
He began, “Well, you’ve seen how they settle things…”
“Joseph, no!” I said sharply, banging into him with my angular shoulder.
“I can win. I’m so much bigger than they are,” he said, so sure of himself.
Gus cleared his throat gently and said, “It’s not just about size, young man. Can you fight?”
Joseph nodded, and I shook my head at the same time. I’d never seen him fight anyone.
“Tomorrow morning, I’ll speak with their leader,” Joseph said quietly, but determinedly. The others agreed.
I strained to face him, but the best I could do was angle one of my eyes in his direction. Joseph blinked like he didn’t want to look at them. “Don’t do this,” I pleaded.
“Can you see any other option, Rosa?” he asked, working his jaw and staring past the fires.
I closed my mouth. I couldn’t.
*****
Dawn hit like a slap in the face. The women were cleaning fervently. The men saddled horses. They were preparing for something.
I caught the attention of my admirer and asked, “What’s happening?” His eyebrow quirked like he didn’t understand me. “I mean, where are you going?”
Recognition sparked, and he smiled. “We guard road. Catch people. Give to All Kind. Get food.”
My stomach rolled. Damn it.
Joseph coughed. “I want to fight for our release,” he said formally.
The man laughed. “What you have I want?” He sneered.
Joseph was lost. We had no possessions of value to them; everything was back at the house we were abducted from. Besides, what would they want with handhelds and jerky? If we told them where the cars were, the mission would end here. My mind unraveled and wound back together, understanding the only option was the worst one. Joseph was going to kill me.
“Me,” I said loudly. “You want me.”
That stopped him from walking away. He crouched down and stared into my eyes intensely, as he closed his hands around my arms and squeezed tightly. “You belong to him?” He shook me slightly.
I winced as I nodded. I didn’t like saying anyone owned me but, in this case, it had to be done.
His spry body sprung up in glee. He walked towards the largest tent without looking back.
“Why would you say that?” Joseph said softly, but with so much frustration and exasperation in his voice he may as well have been yelling.
I stared into the center of the camp, my thoughts tipped to wondering what it would be like to live this way. Cooking and cleaning for a husband who fought brutally for everything he wanted. Little bumps rose on my skin as I shivered in fear. What had I done?
“Rosa, answer me.” He elbowed me sharply.
“I could see he wasn’t going to take the bait. I had to offer him something he might want. You’ve seen how he acts around me. It was worth a try.”
Joseph’s arms tightened, and he physically cringed. “What if I lose?”
I strained my hands to the side closest to Joseph, searching for his hand, and managed to hook my finger around his pinky. Sharp zaps of golden electricity traveled up my arm. I looked to Joseph and his faced relaxed a little, the rest of him still wound up tight.
“Just don’t lose,” I whispered.
“You know even if I do, I won’t let them take you.” His words sparked in my heart, but he was wrong. He wouldn’t have a choice.
“You won’t lose,” I answered, even though I wasn’t sure. I was sure, though, that if he lost, I would go. I wouldn’t let them sacrifice their lives for me. There was always more than two answers to a problem. There wouldn’t always be someone to rescue you. I would go, but I wouldn’t stay. I’d find a way out.
Joseph dipped his head, his curls falling over his face, hiding his expression, but I could easily imagine it. His eyes focused, and his thoughts on the task ahead. His annoyance at me burned a fire in the background and pushed him forward. The sun bounced off his golden head and warmed the earth around us. Our caretaker came to give us water as we all started to sweat under the glare. The smell of seventeen unwashed Survivors caused her to pinch her nose, as she lifted spoonfuls of water into our waiting mouths. When she got to me, she shook her head, running her finger along my dirty cheek and rubbing the dirt between her fingertips. She reached behind me and untied my aching wrists. I looked at her, confused.
“Come. Wash. Fight soon. No good to be dirty prize,” she said hurriedly, pulling me by the arm. I gulped. Turning back to look at Joseph, my father, and Rash, all of whose eyes were reaching out to me in worry.
“Ok,” I said to the woman, letting her drag me away from the camp and into the wooded area surrounding it like a cage.
*****
It was just the two of us. She clamped my wrist with an iron grip as she dragged me through the mossy, green undergrowth with one sinewy arm; the other had several layers of clean clothing hanging from it, which I eyed with trepidation. The thick trees reached so high that the sun scattered only small spots of light over the damp ground. The tips of every plant were dipped in ice, like powdered sugar. My eyes glanced over rocks and tree branches that could be used as potential weapons, but something stopped me from grabbing them. She seemed kind compared to the others, and there was no one to go to for help. The Survivors were all spread out across the mountains and plains by now.
We stepped over a disintegrating log and walked down a steep incline to a rock pool with green ferns dribbling over its edges, ice extending each frond. Trickling water hit like crystal over the rocks.
She sat on a smooth, black rock and started removing her shoes.
“Here?” I asked.
She grunted in response, sort of like she was saying, “Duh.”
There was no shyness as she quickly stripped her clothes off and shrank into the water. Her dark, careworn skin looked like it needed the moisture. But she was strong, every old muscle defined and wiry. She dropped below the surface of the water and my thoughts turned to run… run.
I stood to leave, my feet just scraping the edge of the gently lapping pool. Turning, I started to creep.
A hand snapped out of the water and grabbed my ankle, jerking me backwards and pulling my balance away before I could catch it. My arms flailed out in front of me, and my chin knocked on the boulder I’d been sitting on.
I slid down and into the water fully clothed. A hand on my head held me down for longer than I had breath. I fought and scratched until it released me. The woman’s eyes were fierce as they glared, dark and penetrating like light glancing off a shiny, black rock.
“
Wash,” she said cuttingly, her thin, dark lips pulled back into a growl. Her grainy teeth sharpened in the corners into fangs.
I gasped, coughing, as she pulled my clothes from me like she was stripping the fur from an animal until I was naked and exposed in front of her. She eyed me critically and clicked her tongue in what looked like disappointment. I brought my arms up to cover my bare chest as she turned and left the pool. She threw a cloth at me and began to dress.
“Wash!” she snapped more aggressively, sitting down on a rock to watch me.
A tear slid gently from one corner of my eye. I felt exposed, inadequate, and vulnerable as the woman sneered at me hatefully. I understood now. There was no kindness. This was just what was expected of her and me. My fear grew large like a pulsing wound in my throat. I might have to live this way. Would they hold me down and sharpen my teeth with a file while I screamed and thrashed?
I washed carefully, shivering uncontrollably from the cold, tiny droplets beading and driving down my face, mixing with tears.
I dunked my hair in and gave it the best rinse I could, squeezing out the ends while my limbs pulsed and jerked from the chill.
I crept out of the mirror-like pool, shaking from embarrassment as much as the cold, and put the heavy layers of fabric on my body. A scratchy shirt, a long, dark skirt, and a bodice the woman pulled tight around my middle that was decorated with colorful beads and embroidery. At least she let me keep my underwear.
When I was done, she slammed me down on a rock next to her by pushing my shaking shoulders. She turned my back to her, and I didn’t fight. I shook and whimpered, scared of the choice I’d made. She gently pulled her hands through my hair, teasing out the tangles. The knot in my chest wound tighter. This moment was tarnishing memories of Clara, and I hated the woman for it.
She faced me and rubbed pink powder on my cheeks and over my eyelids. She ran a crusty, old lipstick over my lips that tasted like wax and old lady. I grimaced and she grabbed my face roughly, squeezing my lips together into a pout.
When we were done, she clamped both my hands together and tied them with a bright, nylon cord produced from her bag.
She shoved me in the back. “Walk.”
I glared at her.
I should have hit her with a rock when I’d had the chance.
How do you win? Is it strength? Is it strategy? Or is it your hardness, your willingness to break someone into pieces without caring? Please let it not be that.
I’d been moved to the other side of the camp and tied to a post with two horses behind me. Joseph’s eyes were just pricks of green from this distance, but I knew he was thinking about me, thinking about how we could get out of this.
Two women marked out the fight space, the same routine of sweeping and shifting the stones until they marked out a perfect circle.
The woman who’d made me bathe was busy giving water and food to the others. I watched Joseph wave her away, only accepting a drink. I wouldn’t be able to eat either.
My admirer, who I heard someone calling Sukh, made his way to me, walking with a bounce in his step. He smiled widely and made eye contact with Joseph across the camp. He strained against the ropes that tied him down like a wild horse. Sukh didn’t look at me; he kept his eyes on Joseph as he ran the back of his fingers up and down my arm. I tensed, though I could barely feel him through the layers of thick fabric. “Soon you be mine,” he said, voice thick and confident. I shook my shoulder, trying to push him off. He just laughed in a high-pitched squeal that reminded me of one of Salim’s monkeys.
He stood and went to the edge of the circle.
A woman’s voice tickled my ear. “You know what Sukh means in my tongue?” My eyes bore into Joseph’s, my mouth tightly shut. “Axe,” she laughed, walking away from me, swinging her arms like she was felling a tree.
I slammed my back into the pole I was tied to in frustration.
But if Sukh was an axe, Joseph was a wrecking ball.
A need for blood to spill wrapped itself around me like a thorny vine.
*****
When Joseph removed his shirt, some of the women called out in what I assume was admiration, whooping and cackling like a flock of birds. When one of them had the honor of placing hand marks on his chest, she looked back at the other women and smiled, lingering too long on his sharply defined muscles so the handprint looked more like a bear claw as she dragged her hand down his torso, one on either side of his stitched heart scar.
I felt my skin heating up.
Joseph stood almost an entire head over Sukh, who in comparison was just as muscular, but covered in scars and bruises. His sharp fingernails seemed to glint in the afternoon slant of sun that planed its way across this barbaric boxing ring. Joseph gave me one last look. His eyes wide with adrenaline, his face brushed with pink. He ran his hands through his hair and breathed in deeply, which I knew meant he was really nervous, and he stepped into the ring.
Muscles locked and knees bent. They circled each other slowly. The voices of men chanted on either side, indistinguishable from one another. It was just testosterone-filled noise, like clouds clashing in a storm.
Sukh moved lightly, swiftly, on the balls of his feet, as he looked for an opening to begin the brawl. Joseph moved more slowly, and it scared me. He was lumbering, weak from lack of food and water, stiff from being tied to a tree for two days. A crack opened inside my throat as I realized he could lose. That it was likely he would lose. And I felt like I was choking.
The first blow seemed small, a snap-like lightning as Sukh kicked Joseph in the side of his thigh but, by the way he buckled, it must have caused some damage. Joseph doubled over, rubbing his hand over his injured leg. He stared down at the red welt on his thigh, and the small, dark man took the opportunity to knee Joseph in the stomach twice before springing back and putting distance between them, dancing from foot to foot.
I felt it in my own stomach, the way the pain spread from the impact point and radiated out, covering my whole middle. Joseph fight, I urged, silently. Hurt him.
Sukh’s sharp knee in his abdomen woke Joseph up and he moved with purpose. Fists up guarding his face, he swung through the air, but the punch barely grazed the side of his opponent’s face. I tensed, waiting for the recoil, but Sukh smiled and danced within Joseph’s reach. Joseph grabbed Sukh’s arm and wrenched him forward. Hope pressed in on me, as Joseph kneed the ball of muscle and scars in the stomach once, holding him on either side of his chest like he was a doll. He managed a punch to the ribs as well, and Sukh fell in the dirt, face first.
I sighed in relief and felt my body relax, and so did Joseph’s.
It took only a second, but that was all you needed, right? Sukh sprung back on his muscled haunches as Joseph straightened and swept his leg across the dirt like a metal detector, kicking Joseph’s legs out from under him.
I heard Rash swear from across the circle.
“Get up,” Pelo urged.
Joseph fell to his knees, and his opponent took the opportunity to elbow him in the head.
Blood spurted from Joseph’s nose and flowed down his chest, my own arteries splitting inside me.
I watched it happen, slow, like hours were passing, even though it was only a few seconds. It sounded dull, like wood hitting damp mud: Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! As Joseph was hit on the side of the head, under his jaw, and then kicked in the chest. Acid rose as he fell in front of me, his eyes closed. It was too familiar.
I screamed in panic, in fear, in anger. The rope dug into my wrists as I leaned forward, trying to broach the distance between us. But it was useless. The post wobbled behind me but didn’t budge.
Sukh stood over Joseph, his foot raised, his heel about to come down on the base of Joseph’s skull. No, no, no, no… Not like this. My eyes bounced frantically from Joseph’s body lying motionless in the dust with his hands tucked under his chest to the Survivors across the yard. Rash was wincing, Pelo looked at the ground but Gus, the others, they were smiling.
I stared at that foot, hovering over Joseph, ready to break him.
Then I watched as Joseph’s hands surged back and he pushed into a crouch, knocking Sukh onto his back. Shocked, he didn’t react in time, and Joseph was over him. With strength on his side, it only took one momentous swing of his fist to knock the man out cold. He could have kept going. Joseph could have killed him, which was what the wiry, dark man would have done. But Joseph was no killer. He was a healer. He held his fist above his head and then brought it into the palm of his other hand, squeezing around it and sparing the man beneath him.
Blood spattered and shaking, Joseph turned towards me and smirked. My bones rattled in my chest. My heart stammered and spluttered. It was his plan to pretend to lose.
No one stopped him as he strode towards me and knelt to untie my hands.
“This belongs to me,” he said with a wink.
He grabbed me under my arms and pulled me up. I hurled myself at him, throwing my arms around his neck and closing the gap until there was nothing but rough, canvass fabric between us. His heart was beating so strong and fast; it was like a fist pounding on my chest. Strong arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me closer still. Not even air was between us now. I pressed my mouth to his, talking as our lips grazed each other. “Well fought,” I whispered against him. “But if you ever say that again, you’ll be the one lying unconscious in the dirt.”
He chuckled, dust in his eyelashes, blood all over his face. It was a sound I’d never get tired of. One I’d always crave. One I’d nearly lost too many times.
“I almost was,” he admitted.
My face creased, the pinch of seeing him collapse hinged over me like folded sandpaper. “I know,” I said, burying my face in his dirt-crusted chest.
The Wounded (The Woodlands Series) Page 22