Nyira and the Invisible Boy

by K. M. Harrell

  “Okay then. We’ll follow you. We can attack from the rear. If you kill a couple of the last guards, we can make an opening for our men to escape through.”

  “I have to kill more of them?” He looked ill at the suggestion.

  “Yes. It’s their only way out. Don’t worry. It gets easier.” It didn’t get easier, and he was only able to keep going with constant urging from the angry-eyed boy. He shot one man guarding the rear, and the arrow went through his neck. He didn’t die right away, but the runaways stabbed him to death before he could cry out.

  “This actually works better,” said Angry. “We can finish with a knife all who don’t die quickly.” Enriquillo preferred this method as well as any. As long as he didn’t have to look the men in the eyes again. The next trooper he came upon was guarding a group of six runaways. He took position five yards away in the bush. When he shot the man, he let out a cry as he fell. The runaways moved up quickly to finish him, but a second trooper stepped out of the bush armed with two pistols and opened fire. Angry died first. The other two runaways shot the trooper, but his second gun went off as he went down and shot Enriquillo in the chest.

  42

  When Nyira entered the mill, she went to Constance first. The girl had been struck by debris when she stepped onto the veranda. Madame was sitting holding her daughter’s hand, while Father Reyes was tending to the archdeacon.

  “I can clean her wounds if we can get a fire going in the hearth.”

  “Do you know healing, child?” asked Madame.

  “My father was a healer,” said Nyira. “I was taught by him. Where is Esmerelda? She should help me.”

  “Claude carried her upstairs to the loft,” said Daphne.

  “Why did he have to carry her?” asked Nyira. Daphne hesitated.

  “Esmerelda said you should tend to those down here. Claude wi—” Nyira rushed up the stairs. The second-floor loft was where the grinding wheel pushed by the slaves was located. Esmerelda was in the far corner by the window, lying on a pile of straw.

  “Nolwazie,” cried Nyira and went toward the cook. Claude blocked her.

  “She asked that you not see her, Camille.”

  “But why? What has happened?” Claude choked up a bit.

  “It’s what she requested.” Nyira tried to get by him again, and he grabbed her. “Don’t, Camille. Let her go in peace.” Nyira looked him in the eyes.

  “I can help her, Claude. You want me to help her.” Claude’s huge hands slipped away.

  “Yes,” he said. “I want you to help her.” Nyira rushed to the corner, and almost screamed when she moved the straw away. A stake protruded from Esmerelda’s chest.

  “Oh, Nolwazie,” she said, fighting back tears. She rushed back downstairs. There were buckets of ash by the hearth. She dumped one of them and headed out the door.

  “What are you doing?” asked Diego.

  “Nolwazie is hurt, and I’m going to help her.”

  “If you fix her they will know, Nyira.”

  “Start a fire in the hearth please, Diego.” She stepped outside with the bucket.

  She used all her power to push back against the wind and hold up the bucket to catch water. She anchored herself against the wall of the mill. When the bucket was half-full, she ran back inside. Diego and Daphne helped push the door closed again. Diego had gotten a small blaze going with a few pieces of wood and straw. Nyira made it a full blaze by looking into it. She tore off pieces of her dress and poured half the water into the kettle hanging inside the hearth. When it didn’t burn fast enough, she gave the heat a boost to get the water to boil. Father Reyes came over to watch her.

  “What are you doing, Camille?”

  “I must clean Esmerelda’s wounds.”

  “That won’t help her, child. Her wounds are…” Nyira looked him in the eyes.

  “It’s not that bad, Father. I can help her.” Father Reyes looked confused for a moment.

  “Yes. You’re right, child,” he said. “It’s not that bad. You can help her.” Nyira took the water up the stairs. Claude was sitting beside his wife. He could obviously do nothing but look upon her. He held her hand and let tears fall from his eyes.

  “Claude you should go back downstairs,” said Nyira. “I will tend to her now.”

  Claude wasn’t sure why he agreed to such a thing, but he did and moved hesitantly down the steps. Nyira sat the bucket and rags next to Esmerelda.

  “I hope you don’t mind, Nolwazie. But I need a section of your dress, too. It’s going to take a lot to wipe all this blood off.” She rolled Esmerelda onto her side and tore the dress away where the stake had gone through her back. Esmerelda let out a groan that sounded like: “Please don’t!”

  “I’m sorry, Nolwazie. I just can’t let you die. No matter what happens. Now hold still. I’ll try to make this hurt less.” Nyira put her ear to Esmerelda’s chest, to listen for how close the stake was to her heart. She finally decided to pull the rod out of her back. The wood made a popping sound as it dislodged from Esmerelda’s breastbone. Nyira had to stop from time to time when Esmerelda’s body started to convulse. She put her ear to her chest again, to make sure her heart hadn’t stopped. She would’ve liked to get it faster, but wanted to make sure the stake didn’t splinter from the force she put on it. The entire process took almost forty-five minutes. The one mistake she made, she didn’t leave a scar. She made Esmerelda sleep as she wiped up all the blood, and wrapped and covered her chest. When she awoke, Esmerelda cried:

  “What have you done, child?”

  “She has saved your life,” said Father Reyes, who stood about ten feet away. “And condemned her own.” Nyira spun around and tried to make eye contact with the priest. Artemus quickly turned his head. “I’ve felt your power, Camille. You have influenced me once. I ask that you not do it again.”

  “I only seek to protect her, Father. I mean no harm.”

  “I believe you, child, and I still sense no evil in you. But that won’t save you.”

  “Will you keep my secret, Father?”

  “I am bound by my vows, Camille. And I am not the only one who knew her injury was mortal.”

  “When the storm passes, you must leave,” said Esmerelda. “That is your only hope, Camille.”

  “What about you, Nolwazie?”

  “I can’t leave Claude. I don’t know what he would do without me.”

  “You may have to consider it, Esmerelda. For I am bound by God to confess my sins.”

  “But she is not a sorceress,” said Nyira.

  “She has known, child. She has taken you into her home. The church is very specific in this.”

  “I had hoped to avoid this. You should have let me die, Nyira.”

  “I am not capable of that, Nolwazie. I promised to keep you from danger, and I failed. I’m sorry.” Diego came up the stairs.

  “Nyira, Madame has requested you come tend to Constance. She has not awakened. Madame is afraid.” Nyira looked at Father Reyes.

  “If I help Constance, could she be condemned, too, Father?”

  “No, Camille. Only those who were aware of your powers and concealed them.”

  “All right,” she said. “Tell Madame I will be right down, Diego.”

  When Nyira got to Constance, the girl was very pale. More than usual and her breathing was very shallow.

  “I will lay her head in my lap, Madame,” said Nyira. “If you will allow it.” The woman was obviously very fearful, but she moved aside and allowed her daughter’s head to rest under Nyira’s hands. She sat for a while cleaning the wound on Constance’s head. Madame watched this very closely, her expression of perpetual surprise had devolved into stressed exhaustion. Her eyes were red from crying. Finally, Nyira put the cloth down and sat stroking the girl’s face; her eyes soon opened.

  “Mother?” was the first word she spoke.

  “Oh, thank heavens!” cried Madame. Constance sat up slowly. That’s when her mother took her in her arms. “My dear, dear
child. You have frightened me.”

  “I had a strange dream,” said Constance. “Camille was in it.”

  “Yes, child. It was Camille that nursed you back to me.” Constance looked at Nyira.

  “Thank you, Camille. That wasn’t your name in my dream.”

  “That hardly matters, my child,” replied Madame. “It was only a dream. Now you must rest again.”

  “Your name is Nyira,” continued Constance. “I also saw your village and your people. How was that possible?”

  “I don’t know. I was hoping very hard for you to awaken. Me and your mother.”

  “That is not important,” said Madame. “Rest now, and you will eat when you awaken.”

  “How was that possible, Camille?” This from a revived Archdeacon. “How were you able to share so much of yourself with Constance?” He was still very weak and was propped up by a pile of sacks near the window. “I ask this because I had a similar experience. Did you touch me as well, child?” Nyira didn’t like where this was going.

  “A number of us did, Father. When we righted the carriage, while you were trapped in the water.”

  “But I saw the face of your father, and I know his name. He was a healer.”

  “Yes he was, Father.” Nyira sat quiet for a time after this exchange. She had no idea her touch had this kind of effect on people. It made her sad to think of her father again, at this time. She wondered if he would recognize her if he saw her now. The thought saddened her, and she couldn’t help but cry to herself a little.

  “I hope you realize that this is a form of sorcery, child,” continued the archdeacon. “I shall have to convey this to the diocese.” Nyira had no reply to this statement.

  “That is not possible,” said Madame. “She is not an evil creature, Archdeacon. She has saved my Constance, and you.”

  “It is a matter that the Church will decide, Madame.”

  “Will she be harmed by this inquiry, Father?” asked Madame.

  “She was able to place a portion of her soul into another human being by touch, Madame. That is confirmed by myself and the girl. I have no choice but to send this information to the Bishop. I would be in violation of my vows not to.” Madame looked stricken at this reply.

  “But were it not for her touch, my Constance—”

  “There is no need for further discussion, Madame,” said the archdeacon. “Church doctrine is very clear.” Father Reyes came down the stairs at that moment and sat down beside the archdeacon.

  “You need to preserve your strength, Phillipe,” he said. “Now lay back and rest.” The archdeacon didn’t argue with Father Reyes. He just sighed and complied with his direction.

  The rain and wind had continued its onslaught, and the water had started to seep in under the door.

  “We will not have the fire long,” said Diego, as he stepped in a puddle on his way to add another item to the blaze.

  “We had better move the injured upstairs to the loft,” said Father Reyes.

  “Oh, disappointment!” cried Madame. “I had hoped to have bread made from this fire.”

  “I’m sure you can leave a few slaves down here so they could make some,” replied Father Reyes. When Madame beckoned the Father to come and sit beside her, she whispered:

  “I am concerned about Camille. The archdeacon has decided to call an inquisition because she has touched him and healed Constance.”

  “Yes. I expected this,” replied Artemus. “She has performed a miracle upon Esmerelda. I watched it myself. She removed the stake and saved her life.”

  “They will kill her,” replied Madame, at this revelation. “My Constance would be dead if she had not touched her.”

  “Yes. And she is yet healing those in the room here,” said the Father. “But there is no way to save her now that her secret is known.”

  “We must find a way, Father. I will free her before I see her destroyed. She is not an evil being. I do not agree with the Church.”

  “I am conflicted, of course. Because I am bound by the strictures of my order. And you will be in danger if you attempt to conceal her.”

  “I will not attempt to conceal her, only to help her get away.”

  “I must stop now. To even consider such a thing is blasphemous.” They began the process of moving the injured to the top floor. Father Reyes wanted the storm to subside but knew another would be right on its heels after Phillipe’s report to the Diocese.

  43

  When Bissett pulled the trigger, the gun didn’t fire. He turned it around and gazed at the firing mechanism and powder. “It’s wet,” he said and tossed the weapon into the water.

  “Don’t worry, monsieur,” said the captain. “We shall carry out your wishes when we reach the tree.”

  “That is not acceptable,” said Bissett. “I want to see this slave dead. Why don’t we just drown him?”

  “That is not practical, monsieur. He might take some of my men with him.”

  “I don’t care about your men!” screamed Bissett. “This slave murdered my brother! My brother!” They could all see that the planter had lost his reason.

  “We must get going again, monsieur,” replied the captain. “Someone help Monsieur Bissett to walk.” When a couple of troopers took him by the arm, he became enraged.

  “You will unhand me, sirs! I will not be moving until this creature is dead!” He tried to raise his leg so he could kick André, but lost his balance and pitched backward in the water. The troopers pulled him out.

  “I do not want your help, sirs! Leave me!”

  “What are you asking, monsieur?”

  “Just what I said. Leave my slave with me.”

  “But monsieur,” cried the captain. “If we left you, it would be certain death.”

  “As long as he dies, too. That will do, captain.”

  “Monsieur Bissett,” said the captain. “Please reconsider. We are but a few clicks away from the edge of your property.”

  “Chain me to my slave, captain,” demanded the planter. “I will deal with him in my own way.”

  “Sergeant,” directed the Captain. “Chain Monsieur Bissett to his slave.”

  “But captain,” replied the sergeant. “What if he is overpowered?”

  “Monsieur understands the consequences.”

  “Yes I do, captain,” said Bissett.

  As three mounted troopers held on to André, the sergeant clapped both men in the same pair of cuffs.

  “I shall leave you with a key, monsieur,” the sergeant told the planter. “Should you succeed in your task.”

  “Thank you, sergeant. It will come in handy.” Once the captain saw they had fulfilled Monsieur Bissett’s request, they moved on through the flooded jungle. When André gazed at the planter, he was shocked at the hatred in the older man’s eyes.

  “I have the key to these cuffs, slave,” said Bissett. “Perhaps you can get it from me before I kill you!” He snatched up a floating branch and clubbed André over the head with it.

  “But if I die, I will pull you down with me, white man,” replied André. Bissett swung the branch again, but André was quicker and caught it, snatching it away.

  “Are you going to kill me with that?” asked Bissett. He purposely pitched over in the water and dragged André down with him. André managed to get to his feet, the water was chest level by this time. He realized that Bissett was insane and if he was going to get the key away from him, he had to be more aggressive. The planter surfaced, coughing up water and howling with laughter. André had heard that deranged men did not feel pain. He had to take a chance if he was going to survive.

  “I have the perfect place to keep this key, slave,” said Bissett. He placed the cuff key in his mouth. André jumped him and shoved him under. He got his left arm around Bissett’s throat, to make sure he couldn’t swallow the key. He shook his master as hard as he could as he held him down. He was drowning, too. He just hoped Bissett had taken in less air than he had. It wasn’t going well. The old m
an fought hard, and he was scratching at André’s arm and pummeling him in the face with his right fist. Still, he held on. He then dragged Bissett up and put his hand over his mouth. When he opened it to take a breath, André took the key out and took him down again. Bissett had no strength left this time. André was just strangling him then. Finally, his master went limp. When he came up for air this last time, the water was just below his chin, as he had a body weighing him down. He took another breath and went down to free himself from the cuffs. He came up and swam toward the nearest tree—a medium-sized palm. It was already tilting in the wind, so he didn’t think his refuge would stand for long. All the larger trees were down. Then he saw something that gave him hope: one of the troopers horses swam past him. He knew it was a long shot, but he imagined that that horse knew where it was going. He jumped for it. The horse wasn’t frightened. All he wanted was to swim alongside until it got used to him. He took hold of one of the stirrups to keep pace.

  44

  The elm tree was standing up well in the deluge. Only a few of the troopers made it there. They had had to swim once the water got so high. It was the only skill Bruno retained from childhood. The river had been a playground for the children in his tribe. The troopers had to remove all their weapons to stay afloat. Not all of them managed to accomplish this before the water overcame them. Five of them drowned this way. Four more drowned when they panicked as the water kept rising. Christian knew how to swim as well, also the captain. There was no more need for guards. They all knew where they had to go. Well, actually only Bruno knew, and they were following him. He was now glad he had only brought a few men. Neither of the last three survived the swim. As they came upon the tree, there were others already inhabiting it: three men and a woman. They had probably been hiding in the jungle after placing a potato there. Bruno recognized the woman. It was Babette, Juliette’s sister. The runaways in the tree saw them and threw a vine down to Bruno first. He was a bit weary from the swim but was able to brace his legs on the trunk and repel himself up with the long vine.