“What is your name?” Zatia’s voice cut through the silence.
“My people call me Ia,” I replied.
Her hands halted for a second, considering the name. “Where are you from?”
The answers churned in my mind for a moment. Should I tell her the truth? That I come from deep under the waves?
That I feed on her kind?
Do I lie to these women who have saved me?
“I’m from the north,” I said, hoping that it was sufficient enough to quell the questioning for now.
“You were lucky Jiba found you.” She stood, wiping bloody hands on her apron. “The others would have done as they were told and dragged you to work as you were.”
“Will she be punished because of me?”
Zatia sighed as she dug through the herbs hanging over our heads, pulled leaves off here and there, and then crumbled them in her fist. “Perhaps, perhaps not. It is of no matter. Jiba chose her course,” Zatia said. “She is a gentle spirit, strong, but even she can be broken. You best not tell anyone that she brought you here.”
She knelt over me, caressing my face in her hands. “Especially my son,” she continued, her lips and jaw tensing. “Lie. Say you did not know the face, and they left you on the doorstep.”
I nodded, and she spoke in her native language to Nattie, who fetched another pitcher of water.
“I must close your wounds, but first, we must clean them. It may hurt.”
I again nodded, this time, closing my eyes and bracing myself for more pain. The warmth of the water trickled from the cloth onto a spot of raw, rent tissue. It was salt water. Ocean water. Heated, and comforting. I felt my body soaking it in, consuming it, thirsty for it.
A small gasp escaped Zatia, and I opened my eyes to find her staring at my legs. The areas touched by the saltwater were glowing, ever so slightly transforming red, angry tears into pink ones, sealing the skin up around them until my flesh became as new.
Nattie froze, mouth agape. Zatia looked down at me, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. “What are you, Ia?”
The words came out slowly, softly.
I parted my lips to tell her the truth of my origin when the door burst wide open, slamming into the wall adjacent.
“You were warned not to bring white people here.”
A deep, angry voice resounded in my ears. The voice was an English one, with but a hint of the unusual accent I’d been hearing.
The man was tall, the hat on his head almost touching the top of the door frame. His skin was a light brown with gold like the deeper clay from the northern shores, and his lips were plush, his cheekbones high and sculpted. The wide-brimmed hat he wore concealed wavy black hair, or so I could tell from the wayward strands that peeked out.
But it was his eyes that captured me. Vibrant, light green made absolutely radiant by the dark contrast of his skin. Angry, yes, enraged even, but my, they were beautiful. Unlike any human’s I had seen before, unlike the weathered, aged, rotten-toothed sailors we feasted on.
He stepped in as Zatia stood, and she and Nattie both kept their heads and sight directed to the ground as Zatia tossed a tattered cloth over me to shield my nakedness from his sight.
“Defy me again, and I cannot save you from the trouble he’ll bring on you. Understand me?”
Zatia and Nattie both nodded, their hands clasped solemnly in front of them.
“Take her,” he ordered.
An African man stepped around him, sliding in between him and the door. He wore only a pair of pants, white and marred with stains, kept up by rope at his waist. His eyes never met mine.
He kneeled next to me and lifted, but unlike the gentle carriage of Jiba earlier, he threw me across his shoulder, and I found myself looking at the ground, an uncomfortable pressure growing where my stomach met the bones of his shoulder.
The sun outside blinded me again, and I jerked in surprise as the man tossed me into a small wagon. My back slammed against the wood, but I did not cry out.
“Sorry,” the man spoke, but his words were muffled, full of weight. As he turned to leave, I noticed both of his ears were swollen shut, the lobes ballooned and twisted. Scar upon scar streaked across his back, highlighted by glistening sweat. Some of the skin still held a pinkish hue as though it lingered in a constant state of healing.
“He said, ‘sorry’. He’s half-deaf, he is. Beaten until his ears were done for, or so it looks, probably by the previous owner. You’ll come to understand him in time. Here. Put this on,” a feminine voice spoke from behind me she draped another cloth around my shoulders. “You are very lucky to have lived. Very few have made it.”
I glanced back to find a hefty, pale, pinkish woman smiling at me from the driver’s bench.
“You’ll have to forgive me, dear. I’m Mary.” She giggled. “I serve in the kitchen. Followed my husband over, I did. He’s a cook.” She extended a hand.
I took it, following her lead.
“When I heard that someone lived through that awful mess, and it was a woman, and you were…well, like me, I thought I’d tag along with Mr. Matthias to come fetch you,” she continued, words flying out faster than I could perceive them.
The driver, the very same man who unloaded me, climbed up next to Mary and took the reins. He called out with a strong, slurred voice to the horse latched to the wagon, and we jolted forward, almost sending me sprawling. Mary caught me by my shoulders.
“Oh, you poor thing. You must be horribly frightened and exhausted. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
Her face was kind, excited even, but as I glanced at the driver’s ears and scarred back, I could not shake the feeling that I was being carried into a world far more dangerous than I’d imagined. Mary poured out her every thought, her history, the years she and her husband would work for land and freedom, the night’s menu, where I would likely be stationed considering my unfortunate disability.
All of it flowed through my mind for a fleeting moment, every other thought urging me to make my way back to the water, to my people, to my healed, underwater body.
I sat silent, half-listening to Mary as we traveled for some distance, our wagon clicking by field after field of a tall crop, the green of it washed out by the light of the afternoon sun. Sweat-drenched slaves toiled in the heat. Younger girls and older women hauled water in buckets, giving each worker a ladleful at a time. The cracks of whips cut through the air, followed by the pent-up wails of some of the poor souls on the receiving end.
The man who burst into Zatia’s home rode alongside the cart.
I felt his stare on me, studying my misshapen form.
He said nothing as he stretched his back in the saddle, rotating his left shoulder. I met his gaze for a moment then looked down at the passing ground.
“Three ships, twelve survivors, most too broken to work, and then we have this one,” he continued with a nod toward me. “Of all the able-bodied on board, this mangled one is the one who lived.” He sighed.
“Can’t work the fields, at least, not well. Plenty of servants and slaves in the house. God, I pray you are not my responsibility. I wouldn’t know where to place you. Who do you belong to, girl?”
I looked up at him, confused by the question, and felt the heat as my face flushed with anger.
“Are you deaf and dumb as well? Your contract. Who owns you,” he raised his voice, slowed his words.
“Oh, come, Matthias. Really, must you badger the girl,” Mary pleaded with him, half-scolding. “I’m sure we’ll get a full account of everything once she’s had a good meal and rest. She may not know who she is to go to. She may not can read, for Christ’s sake.”
“If she’s not Lord Malcom’s property, then she’s not my concern,” Matthias stated.
“God have mercy, Matthias,” she shook her head. “I’ll tend to her until you and the Master sort it out. Don’t you worry none over her. You’ll probably never even see the likes of her again.”
Matthias leaned back, slack
ing, studying us with that stern gaze. Angered by his embittered tone toward me, I kept my sight on him, refusing to look away as he assessed me with his eyes yet again. He turned his attention back to the road ahead, clicking his tongue as he spurred his steed onward.
“That’s Matthias. He’s the foreman, overseer of all of us,” she said, lowering her voice. “And believe it or not, he’s the most lenient. The others are nasty, nasty men. Matthias is harsh with all of us, but he has to be. If he isn’t, Lord Malcom will put someone else in his place, and God knows they’d be rotten,” she paused for a moment, weighing her words. “He wasn’t always the cruel man you see today. Circumstance has made him that way.”
Mary’s voice was apologetic, and the sympathy she held for him shone in her eyes, but I could not dismiss his insulting manner. I knew nothing of the man as he knew nothing of me, and he had already deemed me worthless. Unfit for even menial tasks.
I heard the fisherman that sired me, or what I imagined he would have sounded like, in Matthias’ voice, in Matthias’ opinion, and knew without a doubt that he was a danger to me. After all, the fisherman drowned me at birth.
I had no words to respond to Mary’s attempt at easing my anger. Instead, I nodded and turned my attention back to the ground.
Earth. Something I never imagined I’d walk on. Terrifying and exhilarating. I could catch a glimpse of what life might have been for me - develop an understanding of the creatures that kept us alive. Maybe, even, find a way to learn something, anything, to take back to my tribe and make me worth a little more than they would determine me otherwise.
My thoughts flashed to my Calling test. The pit of my stomach told me I was most likely not a Caller, but this experience on land might be enough to keep my same station above the Lessers.
Ro’s voice floated through my mind, and sent shivers down my spine.
And then the thought struck me. What if this is permanent? What if I am destined to spend the rest of my existence onshore? I would not know the answer until I could step back into the waters that threw me out, of that I was completely sure.
Lost in thought, I failed to notice the coolness of the shade stretching over us until we passed through a large, finely crafted stone arch. It was unlike anything I had seen, smooth and delicate. We were under trees for a short distance, winding our way along a more gentle path than the one previously traveled. The trees opened up, and there, at the end of the way, stood an enormous structure.
Living in the waters limited my view to huts and buildings next to docks, and I was awed by the monstrous estate before me.
“Ah, she is beautiful, isn’t she? Melina Hills is what they call her. I’ve seen larger and finer estates back home, of course, but for here, she’s a palace fit for a king.”
Mary smiled at my expression, giving me a few moments to take it in.
“Weren’t expecting something this fine here, were you?”
I shook my head. The manor stretched tall and mighty, four rows of windows indicating different floors. The bottom of the house was cut into the land; smaller windows adorned it. The craftsmanship on the stonework and façade grew more evident as we neared, high arches accented each doorway, smaller ones embellished the windows, and a giant balcony extended from the third floor, giant columns stretching down to the ground supporting it.
“That, of course, is the main house,” she nodded to the giant residence before us. “We, my husband and I, live just off the main house with some of the other house servants. That’s where you’ll be, too, if this is where you’re contracted.”
She eyed me up for a second, hoping for a sign of confirmation, but I kept my focus on the sprawling complex before me as she continued. “There aren’t many of we Irish here anymore. The blacks outnumber us by far. The slaves quarters are a ways off, back toward the hill to the right, see? Closest to the fields.”
It was then I noticed we were surrounded by hills, tall ones that stretched toward the sun and rolled off toward the horizon.
“We’re in a nice spot, indeed. High winds tear though quite a bit, with it being an island and all, but little damage here. Protected,” she smiled as we wound our way to the back of the building. The driver slowed the cart to a stop, and Mary stood as he walked around to help us out the back.
I looked around, awestruck, as he lifted me out of the cart and waited as I stretched my legs, placing my feet on the ground. My knees trembled beneath me, having never been used, and I began to cave in on my own self. He caught me, tenderly held me up upright – a stark contrast to his earlier manner.
“Thank you,” I said, watching as his eyes studied the movement of my lips. A small smile touched his lips, revealing blackened, broken, and missing teeth. From the scars on his back and the swell of his ears, I knew this man had a harder life than I could ever imagine, and my heart pained for him.
“Haven’t your land legs yet, have you?” Mary commented, giving a gentle tug to the driver’s arm toward the house. He turned to watch her.
“Best help her in, Asa, then report back to Mr. Matthias.”
The man nodded, and swept my legs upward, cradling me as he carried me through a large wooden door, held open by Mary.
Chapter 4
Despite the heat, the house was cool. Every window in sight was ajar, welcoming a warm but stirring breeze. Large draperies moved in the wind, and I marveled at the finery around me.
I had seen such fabrics before. My people insisted on grabbing what we could from the sinking ships, sometimes stumbling on things we’d never seen, more so to teach us the ways of our prey than anything else.
Every once in a great while, a female would be on board, wrapped in such exotic finery that it would scare some of the younger, more unfamiliar ones away from feeding. The like of her was indeed rare, but beautiful and utterly mesmerizing. The fabric floated about her, lifting toward the surface, and yet she continued to sink. The light would catch the cloth, and I would marvel in the beauty of it, the colors, the texture. Some of the fish of the southern waters had colors such as those.
And here some of that regalia was, used in plentiful bounty for decoration.
Mary walked in front of us, leading the way down the hall and into a great chamber that stood, to me, as tall as the sky. Light danced on the floor in an array of wonderful color from the glass that hung from the ceiling.
Asa paused there, and we waited as Mary approached an older man who seemed to stand guard at the bottom of an enormous staircase. He was dressed in finer clothes than the lot of us. Of course, any and all of this was completely new to me, let alone the words to describe them. My mouth remained agape, closing only when the gentleman showed us into what I would come to know as a parlor.
Asa again paused, but this time, stooped to lower me down to an ornate, gilded chair. The gentleman saw this and immediately approached us with waving gloved hands, making us aware that we were not welcome to touch a thing.
A few moments passed before Mary reappeared, motioning for us to enter through a smaller door opposite us. Asa, having resituated me in his grip, hesitated for a breath, then did as she directed.
Dark wood covered most of the walls save one, which was lined with shelf after shelf of books. The room was ill-lighted compared to what I had previously experienced, and it took me a minute to notice two me at the far end of the room. One was seated behind a large desk, and Matthias stood before him.
Their voices were hushed, but heated, and as we neared, I could make out some of the conversation.
“Deaf, dumb, crippled, she’d be of no use here,” the seated one stated, his clothing much like the draperies and fabric adorning the house. Clean and crisp, his attire was a stark contrast to Matthias’ simple clothes. “She’d be another mouth to feed and for what?”
Matthias stood erect, silent, everything about his carriage showing his reverence for the man – undoubtedly the master of this estate.
The man behind the desk pursed his lips, swirled around a bran
dy-filled glass. His voice was just above a whisper.
“The facts are thus: I have checked our records and found no such listing of a maimed female servant, although it may be that one of our newer neighbors may be seeking house servants of a paler complexion. I have sent word across the island and will do so to the harbor master of the closest islands,” He paused, taking a sip of his drink. “Considering her condition, the odds are high that an able-bodied member of her family signed the agreement, and she took said kin’s place.”
The master leaned forward, taking a quill and piece of parchment in hand.
“If her contract is not located and ownership of contract remains unknown, we will address her station then. In the meantime,” the man continued. “You will find her work here in exchange for food and shelter. If she proves useless, we will sell her debt and contract her to someone else.”
Matthias sighed, perhaps of relief or perhaps a sign of the burden he would now carry.
“Yes, sir.”
“And Matthias,” the man replied. “You will not allow Christian peoples: slaves, servants, or otherwise, to be healed by your mother. God forbid anyone of consequence receives word of it. You may visit her at will, but you will not allow a repeat of today’s actions.”
“Yes, sir.”
The man nodded, satisfied that Matthias would heed him, and then he took notice of our presence.
“Ah! And here is the subject of our excitement.”
Asa straightened as best he could while holding me, tension shooting through his muscles as the man walked around his desk and over to us.
“Matthias, you did not tell me she was beautiful,” he said, never taking his eyes off of me. They were green, a mirror of Matthias’, but there was something in his manner that made me feel as if I were a banquet to be devoured.
Matthias’ face paled as the master of the house studied me. His strong, wide shoulders slumped slightly as he watched us, and he ran his fingers along the brim of the hat he was holding.
“You have been through quite the ordeal, young lady.”
He gazed down his nose at me, taking stock of my form and condition. He snapped his fingers, and Matthias strode to us, peering over the master’s right shoulder.
Falling in Deep Collection Box Set Page 18