The Spirit Keeper

by K. B. Laugheed

  I reckoned the ruffians we’d heard so much about were in a similar situation, which meant the more people talked about how terrible they were, the more terrible they became. Our best hope, I knew, was to slip swiftly and silently through their territory whilst they were occupied with something else—such as the search party we were following. If we were waylaid by the ruffians, we’d just have to pay whatever tribute they demanded, after which they’d let us go. Tribute was all my brothers e’er wanted.

  The sun set and it came time for Hector to sleep, but he remained on the riverbank, looking back and forth. I told him it was stupid to go without sleep—he would wear himself out so that if the ruffians did show up, he would be too tired to offer a defense. Tho’ he was ignoring me, I could see my words had an effect. Then I got an idea.

  My brothers ne’er got into a fight they weren’t sure they could win, and if the odds were against them, they’d wait ’til they had the advantage. So as Hector paced nearby, I collected piles of grass and weeds. I spread our extra hides atop these piles so that it looked as if there were two people sleeping near our fire. Tho’ Hector ne’er looked at me, he joined me in collecting four more piles so we seemed to have six additional people sleeping in our camp. Satisfied, he lay down amidst the “bodies” and went to sleep.

  Holding the French hatchet in my hand, I sat under my bearskin with my hat on my head so that it was not obvious I was a woman. Thankfully, nothing unusual occurred during my watch, except when Hector snorted in his sleep, woke himself up, and nigh stabbed one of our sleeping “bodies” with his knife. I would’ve laughed at him had he not been so obviously anxious for my safety.

  I slept undisturbed that night, and tho’ Hector paced like a caged cat all the next day, nothing happened. When nighttime rolled ’round, we rearranged our piles and hoped for the best, both aware we should be free to travel on the morrow. All we need do was make it through one more night.

  The second night was more tense than the first, but, once again, nothing occurred. When the second morning came, I got up, tied back my hair, and picked up my pack, preparing to go to the river to perform the purification rituals Hector insisted upon before we resumed normal communications, but just as I turned to leave, Hector suddenly spoke.

  He was standing by the canoe, facing the surrounding brush, casually collecting his fish spears. “If I had someone to talk to,” he said quietly, clearly addressing me, “I would say we are being watched.”

  I froze, considering. I tried to look unconcerned as I went back to stand near him. I bent down beside his pack, looking for the hatchet. “If I could talk to someone,” I murmured, “I would ask how many people are watching us.”

  A long moment passed. Hector continued to fumble with his spears. “I would tell someone I see at least ten, maybe more,” he said softly, apparently to the canoe.

  “Can’t we just get in the canoe and go?” I asked, dropping the pretense as fear took over.

  But it was too late. There was a whoop from the river as two canoes whizzed into sight, and at that signal, the people hiding in the brush stood up and revealed themselves. All of them—those in the canoes and those in the brush—were wildly painted as if for battle. They howled in victory.

  We were surrounded.

  ~23~

  OUR ATTACKERS ENCIRCLED US, howling in delight. A few rummaged through our things, snatching up Hector’s knives, arrows, spears, and the hatchet. Others stabbed the hide covers of our grass piles, sneering at the deception. I was surprised to see how many had European weapons, including at least one sword.

  They all “ooo”ed and “aah”ed o’er me, walking ’round and ’round, eyeing me up and down. When one reached out to touch my knot of hair, Hector shoved away the offending hand and was immediately knockt to the ground, pinned there by two large warriors. E’er since he intervened when the Spanish ambassador held my wrist, Hector suffered no one to touch me. In the villages we visited, he scowled e’en when I let the women brush my hair.

  I trembled to see Hector assaulted and struggling on the ground, but there was little I could do to aid him. As his attackers bound his hands, he shouted in his language, which, of course, only I could understand, “Someone must tell them she is a Spirit Keeper!”

  In spite of the dire circumstances, I felt a flush of exasperation. “E’en now?” I demanded, looking down at him. He would not look at me. “E’en now you will not speak to me?” I sighed heavily and raised my hands to gesture as Hector advised. The effect was immediate and sensational. Every one of the marauders froze. They all stared at me, then turned to see what their leader thought of this revelation.

  He was a tall man, probably in his mid-twenties, wearing a fantastic cape of feathers. He had come in one of their long canoes, and whilst his minions pillaged our campsite, he walked slowly and majestically toward us. His entire body was painted a bright blood red, save for black marks on his face, but the most striking thing about him was his eyes. They were black and shining, wide-open as if he was startled. They made him look like a lunatic.

  He walked to me slowly, looking me up, down, all ’round. He stopt with his face a few inches from mine, and for a long moment our eyes locked, not unlike the way my eyes had locked with Hector’s in my family’s loft. This time, howe’er, Syawa wasn’t there to disarm us.

  Or was he? As soon as I thought of the man whose Spirit I purportedly carried, I became calm. I remembered his Vision, just the thought of which comforted me, as if it wrapt ’round me like an invisible cloak. Suddenly I knew—I knew—I was completely safe.

  The wide-eyed savage before me hissed something in his language; I could feel his breath moist upon my lips. I smiled the same way Syawa always did and said in English, “Well, you’re quite a cock-of-the-walk, aren’t you?”

  Somehow the leader’s wide-open eyes opened wider and he grinned like a gurgling half-wit. At the same time, Hector began struggling again, which caused the leader to turn, as I’m sure Hector hoped. The befeathered leader walked over to sneer down at Hector, then turned and shouted orders to his men. At that, the underlings resumed their pillaging, whilst the leader and his party got back into their canoes. Two others pulled our canoe to the water, got inside, and followed the two larger canoes.

  In a short time Hector was yanked to his feet and dragged up the riverbank. No one touched me, but I followed along, and as soon as I stept beside him, Hector stopt resisting. Thereafter we walked side by side, surrounded by our captors.

  In some ways, the ensuing hike reminded me of the days right after leaving my family’s farm, only this time Hector was the one who was bound. We walked for hours, and in all that time he ne’er looked at me directly. I remember wondering if his dogged adherence to superstition was so strict he would not look at me e’en if these men ravaged me or tore my flesh asunder. Strange to say, I was more vexed by his behavior than by the fact we were now captives of the fabled ruffians.

  In truth, I was almost relieved. For so long we had dreaded the ruffians, worrying about them and wondering what they would do; now I no longer need wonder. It was like the time my gran had a rotten tooth, which she complained about for months ’til my mother finally had enough and fell upon her with a pair of tongs. “Well, that was no fun,” Gran grumbled after the tooth was removed, “but at least ’tis done!”

  So, tho’ I was not exactly having fun as we marched in the hot sunshine, I reckoned ’twas no worse than having a tooth pulled and ’twould soon be over.

  As time passed, I began to regret my earlier vexation with Hector. To cheer him, I sang a song Gran used to sing—a long, tuneful ballad about going to a fair. Because my singing seemed to unnerve our captors, who exchanged glances with increasing consternation, I sang other songs as well. The more I sang, the more I saw a slight softening in Hector’s stony face.

  By mid-day we arrived at the outlaw camp—a filthy collection of hide tents set besi
de a shallow, muddy tributary of the Misery. The canoes had beaten us back, and the leader awaited us in the central clearing of his grimy little village. Besides the twenty or so warriors who participated in our capture, there was a handful of additional guards, half a dozen slatternly women, and something between fifteen and twenty cowering captives, bound in various ways, who were clearly being compelled to perform the basic maintenance of the camp whilst the warriors were otherwise occupied.

  There was much whooping and hollering as we arrived. The “warriors” were mostly very young men—several younger than I. They reminded me of my brothers when they first started carousing all night with their friends.

  The warriors took great pleasure in screaming in our faces and brandishing their weapons in a menacing manner. Hector’s face remained non-responsive through this posturing, tho’ his black eyes flashed rage. I, myself, was little perturbed because I know how boys behave, and besides—I knew none of the warriors would do a thing without direction from their leader. Therefore, the only truly dangerous individual in the whole camp was the man with crazy eyes.

  This madman was no longer wearing feathers; now he wore a European jacket of some sort—perhaps part of a Spanish soldier’s uniform. I noted that in addition to a large metal knife strapt to his waistband, he also had Hector’s hatchet.

  He circled me again and again, seemingly determined to figure out what sort of creature I was. He stopt to stare me down the way he did in our camp, but this time he stood far enough away so that he could gesture. Without blinking, he moved his hands, asking if I was afraid of him.

  Now that was a tough question to answer.

  I knew he wanted me to be afraid—the women in his camp were all cowering—but I also knew he used fear as a weapon. I saw no need to give him ammunition. Holding my hands low to force him to look down whilst I gestured, I said, “I have been captive before. It is not a pleasant experience.”

  Surprised, the leader lifted his face and laughed. Others obediently laughed with him, tho’ I’m sure they had no idea what was so amusing. I saw Hector actually glance at me, his eyebrows contracted; he immediately looked down, breathing heavily.

  The leader gestured that he was called Three Bulls, a name he earned by killing three bull buffaloes in a single day. Seeing he meant to impress me, I smiled, but my response disappointed him. He frowned, still studying me, before turning his attention to Hector.

  Three Bulls did to Hector exactly what he’d done to me, circling ’round, looking him up and down, smiling vaguely as he stopt to breathe in his face. Hector met his gaze steadily and did not otherwise react, tho’ his jaw was clenched so tightly I feared he might break a tooth. When Three Bulls slowly pulled Hector’s hatchet from his waistband, the surrounding crowd held its collective breath. I had no idea what the lunatic intended, but I decided not to find out.

  “Excuse me!” I said in English, which made everyone look at me—everyone save Hector, who kept his eyes on Three Bulls. “Sorry to interrupt,” I gestured, “but I am new to this land and oft do not understand. Please explain. I am a Spirit Keeper—does that mean nothing to you?”

  Three Bulls reared back as if I had spit in his face, his wide eyes now so enormous I feared they might pop like fat tossed on a fire. If the people in the crowd were tense before, they were literally quaking now. The madman stept slowly back to me, his thin lips twitching. “That depends,” he gestured as he walked. He stopt before me, his eyes flashing. “What Spirit do you keep?”

  I tipt my head, puzzled, looking ’round at the cringing villagers. “This is why I am confused,” I gestured. “At every other village, I am welcomed and respected. My Guardian is welcomed and respected. We are given food and lodging in exchange for our story. Do you expect me to tell my story here, now, with my Guardian bound?”

  Three Bulls snorted in amusement. “Do you expect me to untie your snarling dog, Spirit Keeper?” He laughed at the thought, looking to his cronies. They chuckled obligingly.

  I chuckled, too. “Yes,” I gestured with a smile. “Unless you are afraid of him.”

  Three Bulls returned my smile, but I could see his irritation. He directed his minions to untie Hector, then turned back to me, his face in my face. “I fear nothing, Spirit Keeper,” he gestured. “But I have something you will fear. Let us test the bravery of this Spirit you keep.”

  Hector was rubbing his wrists and tho’ he still would not look at me, I saw a flicker of concern on his face—a concern I shared. The two of us, along with everyone else, dutifully followed Three Bulls as he walked to the edge of his village. Some of the lesser-bound captives came, too, all wearing the same doleful expression of despair.

  From the edge of the village, we stept into the wide-open prairie. We walked for half a mile or so, and as far as the eye could see, from the river on our left to the horizon on our right, there was naught but an ocean of golden grass, hip-deep and waving in the breeze. I looked across the vista in awe, but when I looked back to the river, I saw something that ruined the magnificent view. At the edge of the prairie the grass had been trampled, and five corpses were staked out in the sun, each in a different stage of decomposition. Hector and I stared at these horrors in alarm. When Three Bulls saw our reaction, he smiled.

  He then said something to his men which prompted one to scurry down the riverbank to a clump of trees. In a moment the man returned, and as he topped the bank I saw he was leading a brown horse by a rope tied ’round its neck.

  I felt as much as heard the crowd whimper. People actually backed away as the horse was led up to us. E’en Hector flinched, bothered by the way the horse bobbed its head and blew through its great nostrils. But he held his ground, and by the time the man with the horse reached Three Bulls, the only people who had not backed away were the crazed leader, Hector, and me. I was smiling at the horse in delight.

  This was clearly not the reaction Three Bulls expected. He frowned, perplexed. He reached out to take the rope from his lackey, pulling the horse ’til its face was right in my face. “It is a big dog!” he gestured triumphantly.

  I could not help myself—I laughed. Whilst I laughed, everyone stared, stunned. Finally I gestured, still giggling, “That is not a dog!”

  Three Bulls looked from the horse to me, then back again. “It is like a dog!” he gestured, somewhat defensively.

  “It’s nothing like a dog!” I insisted. “Dogs eat meat—this animal eats grass!” I remembered I had a bag of grain in my pack, which I began digging for as Three Bulls frowned at the horse.

  “Well, still,” he gestured after a moment, “this is a fierce animal who will kill you if I command him to!”

  I shook my head knowingly and pulled out a handful of grain, which I held up to the horse, clucking my tongue the way Mary and I used to do in her father’s stable.

  The horse was a beautiful chestnut stallion, obviously raised by someone from my world. When I held out my hand, he perked up his ears and sniffed the air, then my face. He took a step forward to eat from my hand. With my other hand I scratched his ears and petted his neck, murmuring endearments in English. When I kissed his soft snout, the horse snorted and I laughed.

  An ominous silence descended.

  If Three Bulls was crazy-eyed before, I know not how to describe what he was now. He turned his stunned face to Hector and waved his arms wildly, demanding to know what was wrong with me. Hector gestured that the Spirit I keep is that of a powerful Holyman, known to have many supernatural gifts.

  Three Bulls shouted a variety of orders to his underlings, who scurried away. He turned back to me with a smile so broad it seemed his head might break in half, like an egg, and he gestured he was going to give the Spirit Keeper and her Guardian the best celebration they’d e’er seen. He was, he said, eager to hear our story.

  • • •

  Accompanied by two large guards, Hector and I were allowed to go to th
e river to prepare for our performance. Only after I finally completed my prescribed cleansing ritual would Hector, at last, look at me. I stood on the riverbank clad only in my bodice and loincloth, my hands on my hips, glaring at him. “So?” I demanded. “Will you speak to me now?”

  He exhaled loudly, his face still stony. “Please do not disregard my beliefs.”

  I was livid. “Why not? You disregard my beliefs!”

  He frowned, confused. “I do not disregard your beliefs. But we are no longer in your world.”

  “If I am in a world, it is my world!” I declared furiously. Hector’s brow furrowed deeper as he considered, but I went on: “Because of your beliefs, we are now captive and you were nigh hacked to death before my eyes!”

  “He was not going to kill me. At most he would have cut off a finger or two. He just wanted to see how much pain I can take.”

  I stared at Hector in disbelief. “And you thought I would just stand there and watch that happen?”

  “Now he knows how much pain you can take,” he said unhappily, “and how to inflict it.”

  I inhaled sharply. “You’re suggesting I’ve made a target of you? I beg your pardon—I saved your life! You and I both know I’m in no danger, because, well, look at me! I’m a prize. Everybody wants me! But you—he’ll keep you alive only so long as he thinks he can use you to control me.”

  “You think you are protecting me, but please believe me when I say you will not save me by enticing him.”

  I gaped at Hector in much the same way everyone had gaped at me earlier. “Enticing him? Exactly how do you think I’m enticing him?”

  “You speak to him. You smile at him. You look at him.”

  Shaking my head in outrage, I raised both hands. “I . . . I know of no way to answer that, Hector. Maybe . . . maybe the Seer got the wrong girl. Because I am someone who will look at people. I will smile. I will speak. And if that offends you, or if it violates some of your stupid rules, then that’s just too bad.”