LIFE NEAR THE BONE

by Billie Sue Mosiman

  Sacrifice did nothing for Angelique; was not amusing or interesting in any way. What it did was instill in the people a fear that she needed kept at fever pitch. At first they feared her control of the panther, Kokuru. When he died of old age, toothless and clawless, they then feared her because she had not aged. She remained the same ten-year-old child she had come back into after death. That was enough to keep her power over the superstitious native aborigines for long years more.

  “Our little queen,” they whispered. “Surely she came to us from the gods to remain so young and to never grow old.”

  Then there were a few attempted coups and attempts on her life. The funny thing about power is that someone always wants to take it away from you. The funny thing about fear is that it wanes, grows cold and transforms into anger and a thirst for revenge unless the ante is upped.

  Angelique side-stepped the assassination attempts easily enough. She could read the eyes of the plotters, she could sense the presence of someone who meant to do her harm. Though she had those traitors to their queen summarily executed, publicly torn limb from limb, she knew she needed something else to keep the kingdom on an even keel.

  Everything changed the day the tribe had decided was the winter season start, either October or November, 1493, she was later to determine, when a young man had been chosen for sacrifice. He was led to his death place willingly, his hands tied behind his back with leather thongs for precaution. Some of them, at the last moment, changed their minds and screamed for mercy and tried to run away. The honor waned at the prospect of death.

  An axe, made with a large piece of sharpened shale stone wedged into a length of polished hardwood, lay on the stone awaiting him. He was placed on the stone on his stomach. He turned his head and looked at Angelique who stood close by. She could see the fear in his eyes. She blinked, feeling nothing.

  She turned from him, bored, and looked to sea. She was the first to spy the ships on the horizon sailing toward the island. She made an audible intake of breath. The victim, noting her alarm, lifted his head and stared out to the sea, too.

  The young man lying on the altar began babbling like a mad man. In the two hundred years Angelique had been stuck on the island not one soul had come. Now was her chance to escape! Her heart raced, blood rose to her face, and she stepped back from the precipice.

  She didn’t care about the sacrifice anymore; she didn’t care about the people or their fate. The ships were coming!

  She must hide out before they arrived. The people

  would tell the strangers about her, their queen, their long living, never aging child queen, but they would never find her. She could not take the chance the strangers on the ships might be murderous, and of course they would be superstitious, thinking her a demon if they believed she did not age. Regardless, the person in a position of power on this island would be the first to die. Chop off the head of the serpent, the serpent dies.

  She must not let the strangers know of her. Not yet…

  She rushed down the hillside away from the jutting stone and the gathered people. Some cried for her to come back. “Save us, save us!” they cried. Some saw the ships and crowded toward the cliff’s edge to watch, curious about what a ship meant and who the strangers might be.

  Angelique sped down the hillside, through the empty village, and plunged into the jungle, taking nothing with her. She knew of a good place, a safe place. After lifetimes spent on the island she had walked, at one time or another, every inch of the landmass, from seashore to seashore.

  This place she knew was not far distant. It was a natural cavern high up a mountain, camouflaged by the thick over growths of vegetation that grew there. She had found it by accident on one of her ramblings and made a mental note, knowing one day she might need a hiding place and this one was perfect. Hard to reach. Hidden. Unknown by the natives.

  She knew one day someone would come. Fate could not be so cruel as to deposit her on an island in the middle of an ocean and leave her there for the rest of her days. She just knew someone would come!

  #

  Angelique had lived before many times, the Haitian incarnation only the one that had not yet ended by either murder or accident. She had known the royal family in Egypt when the girl queen, Cleopatra, had reigned. Before that she had known the times of the early days of the Roman Empire, before it was an empire—when indeed it was not yet Rome, but just a trail at the bottom of the seven hills leading to salt deposits. There were other and varied incarnations throughout history, all of them made interesting to her because she found a way to manipulate her way into power, into security, into riches. But never before had she come back as a child, cursed forever to a small, frail body. And never before had she been abandoned and trapped this way on an unknown little island where the populace hadn’t even progressed toward a civilization that knew how to build ships. She had tried to teach them, over and over again, and had sent off crews in rough-hewn dugouts, but either the rough seas pushed them back to shore, or crashed them headlong into the cliffs.

  The ships sailing toward the island meant freedom, for they were real ships, ships with sails, wide-breasted and sturdy. They looked like greater ships than even the Romans had built during her time in that age of history.

  She would wait until these seafarers left again, for surely they’d find nothing to plunder or of interest on the island, and when they left she would secret herself aboard one of the vessels. Freedom! She knew she must leave this island and these primitive people or go insane.

  She had reached nearly to the top of the rugged mountain and flailed at the thick vines and bushes that covered the entrance to the cave. From her vantage point high up the mountainside, she could see the ships coming, their sails unfurled yet, the waters parting before their mighty bows. They were beautiful to her, these ships, and indicated the people who constructed them were from an advanced civilization. The sight excited her so much she could hardly pay attention to what she was doing.

  She pulled and hauled and the hanging vines held fast, thwarting her. She cursed her strength, cursed the little arms, the small hands, the short legs of her tiny body.

  I didn't know! She raged to herself. She had not known, waiting in the dark, that the body awaiting her entry was that of a little child. Had she any inkling she would never have made the leap, dooming herself to life lived in miniature. All she had known was that Death had found a human, had taken it, and had summoned her forth. She tried to see through the veils separating her world from this one, to determine what the dead body might be like, but everything shimmered, like light on water, blinding her. She would either enter or turn back and she couldn't turn back. She was already too close to the earth, trapped in its atmosphere, spiraling downward from stars and galaxies, falling from the dark heaven she'd inhabited for too long. She saw the body as a pinpoint of light and no more. Nothing could stop this invasion, nothing could brake her descent, and once she was inside the body, she owned it, having let go of the spirit in the other world, and embedding it in this one, in this small body of a little girl.

  She was the only angel of the fallen who could do this on her own, without help from another. She was the most powerful, the strongest, the supreme angel of them all.

  And now she was a human girl.

  Her thoughts painfully returned to what she was doing. She swore at the vines and hacked at the bushes, pulling and tearing, cuts opening on her hands. She would not give up, she couldn’t. She worked furiously, enraged, determined to get her way, to get herself inside the cool, safe cave and away from the prying eyes of both natives and intruders sailing quickly now to her shores.

  Finally some of the vegetation gave way and, parting, provided entrance. She squeezed through the narrow opening and stepped into the dark interior where little sunlight entered. She saw it was a large place just as she remembered. The overhead rock was smooth and vaulted and a great many feet above her head. The floor at the entrance was level and the earth soft and dry ben
eath her bare feet. She stepped forward, hands outstretched, and suddenly stepped on something sharp, causing her to howl and jump back, hopping around. She stooped to investigate. It was a cache of bones, and nearby, several long sharp teeth of an animal. The bones were those of small animals, perhaps hogs or the small deer that roamed the island, or antelope. The teeth, another matter altogether. She lifted one, laying it gently in her torn palm and studied it closely. It was an incisor, at least six inches long, curved and pointed. It could be from a saber tooth, she realized, a tiger that did not today exist on the island. The bones, then, were leftovers from dinners and snacks taken by the ancient beast, and then later the beast itself had expired here.

  This was indeed an ancient place and had been home to animals for millennia.

  She turned to make sure the vines were rearranged again at the entrance. She must make sure her safe place was not noticed by a hiker up the mountainside.

  Now she went further into the darkness of the cave, for she heard the sound of water, and thought that was a very good thing. After some time she came to a bend in the cave wall and, trailing her hand along the damp cave, she rounded the corner, almost stepping into a hole that would have definitely taken her into the deep bowels of the mountain. She stood absolutely still, sucking in damp, cool air, thanking her stars. She could have ended it all here. Over the lip of the hole from the opposite direction, across from where she stood, came a small stream of water that slid smoothly into the opening where it dropped down into the darkness. She did not hear a splashing as she might if the water struck a surface or a pool so the hole was very deep.

  She would have to find a way to get to that water across the way, she knew, to slack her thirst. At least it was there, an underground stream dropping off into the mountain hole and probably rushing away through some opening in the bottom of the mountain. To those on the jungle floor it appeared as a rushing stream.

  She turned back and made her way into the cave proper, to have a look around. She would need to move some of the great piles of animal bones, get them out of her way. She would need some of the leaves from the giant vines at the entrance to fashion a comfortable bed. As for food, she would go out at night only, not much more than a predator herself, but one with preternatural powers, and hunt what she needed.

  All the while she would keep an eye on the strangers and the ships, waiting patiently for indication of their departure.

  She sat down on a hump of earth and tucked her knees to her chin. She breathed in deeply of the metallic scent of the mountain water deeper at the back of the cave, and sighed. A caul like soft mist fell over her face, draping it with damp.

  She hoped it would not take long—the leaving of the ships. She had been living this horrible, primitive existence forever, it seemed to her, just forever and a day and she was more than done with it. She expected she was half-mad already. Her mind was an idle bit of matter sitting like a slug in her skull. It had not been stimulated. She had no scrolls to read, no writing materials, no historians or philosophers to teach her, no pomp and circumstance of politics, no passing pageantry to behold. And being a child, she could not even indulge the flesh with the animal pleasure of intercourse, which she missed as if it were a phantom appendage she longed for.

  A slight rustle sounded loud to her ears and without hesitation to think what it might be she reached out swiftly with one hand and caught the wriggling, furry thing that had tried to skitter past her to the vine-covered exit.

  She brought it to her face, squinting in the gloom. It wriggled ferociously and tried to take nips at her fingers. It was a rat, a rather large one, with a long whipping tail and beady little black eyes. It was in a thorough panic as it squirmed in her hard clutch.

  “Hello, my friend,” she said, smiling. “It is kind of you to visit.” And then with her other hand she gripped the head of the little beast and wrenched it sideways until she heard a crunching sound of bones snapping. The rat stopped wriggling and lay limp in her hands.

  Now she had something to eat. She would be sustained until nightfall.

  CHAPTER 7

  TAKING A NEW LAND

  Christopher Columbus stood on deck and instructed his men in what they were to do upon landfall. His ship led the others forward through the swells, their sails now lowered, the land close enough they could go ashore in small boats.

  “You can see them streaming down to the shore, excited about our arrival. Make friendly gestures and do not scowl at them. Remember that they have not seen a white man. Make no sudden movements and do not get too close to them. We’ve seen natives like this before and you should know what to do. We'll try to gain their confidence, trade with their leaders or elders or kings, and once entrenched we will make this great place ours in the name of the great Isabella, Queen of Spain!”

  A roar rose from the clustered men. They were almost in rags, unshaven, dirty, and hungry as well, for fresh food. Their stores were low and this new land was a wonderful gift, a land of mountains and green forests, no matter that it was also a great adventure. There might be gold hidden there, treasure, what it was their captain wanted most and what they, too, wanted with every fiber of their beings. Even though they were forbidden to take gold for themselves, everyone filched a little along and hid it on the ships before sailing away. Also, as they could see, rushing down and into the small lapping waves along the sandy shore, there were women! The men had not had congress with a woman for months and were bursting with lust. Given half a chance, at this point in their journeys, they would poke a cow or a horse or any sort of four-legged beast, but a woman was certainly preferred.

  “Take your time,” Columbus was instructing. “Say nothing while I hold palaver with the tribal leaders. Begin slowly to set up a camp inland, bring our cooking pots and spices, find something to cook, asking the natives politely. Now….” He paused, wiping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief scented with grated lime. The limes, almost gone now, only a few left, were shriveled and juiceless after all this time on board, but their skin still held some fragrance that revived his senses. He did not feel so well though it was a great victory to discover what he thought might be China, his real destination. He had made one mistake already, happening on the New World, but this could be the place he sought.

  His stomach had become sensitive on him, growling, going sour, spewing shit that was so foul he gagged. He wondered if he’d outlast this trip unless he got stronger. “Now, let us lower our boats and strike land! In the name of the Queen! In the name of Spain!”

  After the excited roar, the men set to work. Columbus staggered a bit before taking hold of the railing to steady his gait. He went into the first boat, as was his custom, and waited for it to fill with oar men and his personal guards, armed to the teeth with muskets and swords and knives at their belts. He himself did not carry a weapon, not needing one and in fact knowing he could approach people easier if unarmed. But on sighting the land, he had retired to his cabin, cursing his grumbling belly, and carefully dressed in full gear, with his silver, plumed helmet and his silver chest plate hammered to a dull shine, and his best leather boots that were now looking a little worn and creased.

  He had evidence that dressed this way, in full regalia, he was looked upon by the primitives as a god come ashore, a mythical being stepping forth from the frothy edge of the sea like Poseidon rising from the waters. He was supremely confidant his stalwart men would overcome this place and dominate it within days. He hoped for gold, heaps of it, mountains of it, caskets of it. He hoped for treasure beyond all treasure to bring back to his queen, to his homeland. He hoped for an easy victory, low loss of his men, and a land that he could title to Spain that was worth titling.

  He clutched his churning stomach and leaned forward and kept his hard gaze on the people awaiting his arrival on shore. This was so easy, he thought, it was almost ridiculous. They were so stupid they thought he was their friend, their new god, come to deliver them, to show them miracles.

 
They, at least in the beginning, the new people in these new worlds, loved him.

  Everyone always loved him.

  CHAPTER 8

  THE TIME OF WAITING

  It had been months and the Spaniards hadn’t made a move toward leaving the island. The great ships stood fast with lowered masts, rocking gently in the bay.

  Angelique was dirty, her hair knotted with tangles her finger brushing could not undo, and she was mad as hell.

  She had sneaked down the mountain a few times during those months, watching the interaction of the intruders and the natives. From hiding, even at a distance, she could see things were not going well. The people were sullen, hunchbacked with barely suppressed fury. The invaders wore cloth breeches and carried weapons, some of which Angelique had never seen before. She could not imagine what they did, these strange pieces made of both wood and iron, half as tall as the men who carried them. Later, on another foray down from the mountain, she discovered how the weapons were used and it astounded her. A fire came out the end of the long barrel, a small, acrid smoke wafted from it, and the man it had been pointed at fell dead instantly, a great hole in his chest, running blood. These people owned such a tremendous advantage with these weapons that she imagined they could have easily disseminated Caesar's troops in an afternoon. Astonishing!

  The invaders were often bearded and they were all light skinned in stark contrast to the dark natives. It was day and night passing by one another, a strange parade of peoples. Glancing down at her arms she realized her own skin color was closer to that of the invaders than to the people. It’s just possible she might pass as one of them, if circumstances dictated. “I am one of you!” she could cry. “I was left here with these primitives when I was a baby. My skin is white like yours and only a little darker because of the sun, my lords.”