With Chips on my shoulder, I set off down towards the Black River. I knew what would happen when we got there, because this trip always ended the same way. Not long after Chips had become a part of the family, I had decided that I was tired of his smelly fur and attempted to bathe the little creature in a wooden bucket that my father had made for my mother to wash clothes. Chips had screamed and screamed, and finally managed to wriggle free, hurtling off into a nearby mango tree and refusing to come down for the rest of the day. Since then, he had absolutely refused to have anything to do with water, and sure enough as soon as the vast, flowing river came into view he screeched, leapt down off my shoulder and shot off into some dense bushes. I watched him go, giggling. I had no fear for Chips, he never strayed too far from my side.
There were a few other people further down the river bank who must have had the same idea, but I just wanted to be alone. I found a quiet spot, went for a short swim to cool down, and then lay out on the sand to cool off. The forest was only a short distance away on either side of the water and I could hear the chattering monkeys, and hundreds of different kinds of birds, whose calls all mingled together to make a beautiful kind of song. The Amazon was never silent, it was a permanent cacophony created by the voices of the many creatures that called it home, yet at the same time it was also strangely peaceful. The sound of the animals was a comfort. If it ever quietened, you knew that danger wasn't far away.
The river bank was my escape. Out of sight of the house that felt like a prison, and clear of the suffocating forest, the cool, running water under clear, blue skies felt like freedom. With the warm sun on my face, I felt relaxed and comfortable, and presently I fell asleep.
When I awoke, the sun was a little lower. Not too much time had passed, but I supposed my mother might be wondering where I was. I was also thinking about the sweetcorn cake that must by now be baked and ready to eat. My tummy gave a soft growl.
"Alright tummy," I said, giving it a reassuring pat, "time to go home!"
After the cool of the water and the gentle breeze down by the river, being inside the forest felt like walking through an oven. Far from deflecting the sun's heat, the thick canopy let it through and then kept it in, baking everything below such that it was sometimes hard to breathe. By the time I reached the farm I was sweaty again, bitten by mosquitos and leeches and really looking forward to a piece of cake and a sit down.
Chips had met me on the far side of the trees before racing on ahead as soon as he caught sight of home, and I could hear him now inside the house screeching, scampering around quickly on the wooden floor and crashing into things. I ran towards the door smiling at the thought of having him back at my neck, he was as a child to me now and I didn't like to be parted from him for too long, but then I heard another sound that made me stop dead in my tracks, the smile fading from my lips at once.
"That damned monkey!"
My father was home. Nobody ever knew when Moises would return, or even where he had been. We supposed he must work for some rich man somewhere, running errands or the like, but beyond that nobody could say. He never spoke of his work. When he did come home then, he always took us by surprise. I thought he probably liked it better that way, because it added to the atmosphere of fear around the place.
Afraid for Chips' safety if my father was in a bad mood, I ran into the house, snatched up the agitated little monkey and bolted for the door again.
"You!" my father yelled after me. "Where have you been?" But I was already outside and sprinting towards the trees. We could hide there until dinnertime, and then spend the night in the stables. If I slept in my room, I knew, Moises would come after everyone else had gone to bed and punish me for running away from him. Maybe if I could avoid him for a day or so, he might calm down and forget about it. It was worth a try at least.
I slipped away quietly to the stables after dinner. The smell in there was always disgusting; horse dung and urine that mingled and lingered in the hot, thick air, creating a toxic atmosphere that sometimes made me want to be sick. But the hay was soft, and comfortable, and I felt safe. Better out here with the fetid stink of the animals, than in there with the rotten heart of my enemy, I thought. With chips curled up on the straw next to me, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.
The sun shone brightly into the stable next morning, making my long, curly hair shine like red gold. I jumped up from the hay, yawned, stretched and smiled.
"It's a new day, little fella!" I beamed, tapping Chips on the back. He was awake at once, and secured around my neck a moment later. Together we made our way back to the house for breakfast, but when we got there it was empty.
"We must have overslept, Chips," I said, "they've all gone to work already." Oh well, I thought, at least it was peaceful. We could go and check on the horses, and then maybe wander over to the plantation to see my brothers.
"There you are, little piglet."
The voice behind me froze my blood. Before I could react, a strong hand grabbed my hair and Chips leapt, shrieking from my shoulder. The room span as my father swung me around like a rag doll, I saw the corner of the table flying towards my face, and then everything went black.
CHAPTER THREE
The Witch
"EMILIA!" A LITTLE voice called out, "Emilia, get up! What are you doing down there? What's wrong?"
With some difficulty, I managed to open my eyes and a wave of pain shot through me. I was sure that every bone in my body must be broken.
"Emilia?"
I focused on the face hovering above me, and realised that it belonged to Paul, a tall, dark, rather handsome boy from the little school I attended on the edge of the farm. For a moment I was confused. Where was I? What had happened? Then I remembered.
"Are you okay?" he asked, worried. "What happened?"
"I fell," I croaked, struggling to rise, embarrassed to have been found like this. Paul grabbed a hold of my arm and helped me up.
"How did you fall?" he asked, doubtfully. I looked into his kind face, and for the briefest of moments considered telling the truth. But I knew that it would do no good. Even if he believed me, there was nothing anybody could do. My father owned this part of the world. Nobody would dare challenge him. Not for any reason.
"It doesn't matter." I forced myself to smile at him. Even that hurt. "Let's go outside."
We played in the sunshine for a while until Paul had to go home, and I was about to head back into the house when I heard the distant rumble of wooden wheels on the dirt road behind me. I glanced around, and then squealed for joy as my heart leapt.
"Avó!"
The days when my grandmother came to visit were always my favourite. Much like my mother, my grandmother was a small, skinny creature, only where Maria's long, flowing hair shone like spun gold, Firmina's was dull, and grey and tangled. She had begun to lose her eyesight in her thirties, and found her way about now with the help of a long, wooden walking stick which completed the look that helped earn her a nickname amongst the locals: 'Bruxa.'
Witch.
Despite being old, and small, and almost completely blind now, my grandmother possessed a strength that belied her frail, physical form. She had an energy about her, in the same way that the thunderstorms made the forest come alive. The farm felt like a different place when she was around. When my grandmother came to stay, I felt safe.
"Avó!" I cried again, haring towards her at full pelt on my bare feet as the old woman stepped down from a horse-drawn cart not far from the house. Firmina embraced me, stroking my thick, red hair and laying hands on my soft, grubby face.
"How are you child?" she asked, the smile on her lips tinged with concern.
"I'm fine avó," I beamed, "I'm glad you're here!"
"My sweet baby," she replied, looking down with what little sight she had left into my large, hopeful eyes, "I have been gone too long. Tell me everything."
I didn't reply right away. Defying my father's cruelty was my task to bear, it made me strong and able to co
pe with the harshness of my situation. I knew that my grandmother wanted to help, and I loved her all the more for it, but nobody could shoulder my burden for me. Moises was my enemy. I would cope with him in my own way.
"Nothing's happening avó," I replied, clinging tightly to her. "I just missed you."
Usually when Moises was home we ate dinner in near silence, but my grandmother's visits gave everyone an excuse to talk. Maybe we all felt a little braver when she was around.
"How long will you be staying, avó?" I asked.
"I haven't decided," she replied. "How long would you like me to stay?"
"Forever!" I replied at once, beaming brightly. She laughed, and glanced over at my father.
Moises wasn't happy, but he chose to tear into a chicken leg with his teeth rather than voice his displeasure. He had never liked the old woman, but knew better than to quarrel with a witch.
After we had eaten and I had helped my mother clear away the plates and cups, I wandered outside and found my grandmother sitting alone a short distance from the house. Firmina had donned a clean, white robe and she was holding a glass of water, and I could see her lips moving by the flickering candlelight. When she spotted me, she smiled kindly and beckoned me over.
"Come and watch," she whispered, "you must learn to do this as well, for when I can't be around."
"What are you doing avó?" I asked, curiosity racing through my veins such that I felt my skin prickling.
"The candle," said Firmina, picking it up and handing it to me, "helps guide the spirits on their journey. Spirits can help and protect us, but only if they know where we are!" She smiled, and I smiled back, my eyes wide, breathless with excitement. I had always wanted to understand the spells that my grandmother performed, but my mother always told me that I was too young to learn, too young to understand.
"What about the glass of water, avó?" I asked curiously.
"The water purifies the spirits as they enter our world," replied Firmina, holding it out in front of me so that I could see clearly. "In case they are bringing evil with them, or," she glanced back towards the house, "finding it here." I followed her gaze and understood at once what the evil was of which she spoke. "It has to be clean though," she said, strictly, "or else it won't work.
"What were you saying to them?" I asked, my head tilted to one side. "Can you teach me the words?" Firmina touched my cheek gently, then took the candle back.
"Yes child," she replied. "But not tonight. Come," she stood up with the candle in one hand and the other upon my shoulder. "Time for bed."
There were two beds in the little room, but I climbed into my grandmother's to share all the same. I couldn't bear for there to be even the slightest separation between us. Firmina represented peace, and safety, and happiness, and those were the things I craved above all else. I admired how strong she was, and envied how afraid my father seemed to be of her. She may not be able to fight my battles for me, but she could still be my inspiration, a beacon of light in the darkness.
Next morning at breakfast, Firmina had an announcement to make.
"I am going to teach Emilia," she said casually.
"We already have a school," my father replied, drinking his coffee without troubling to look at her. "The teacher does a good enough job. I don't need you to teach my children to read and write."
"Oh no," said Firmina, breaking off a piece of cake, "I intend to teach her witchcraft." I sat bolt upright, my mouth paused mid-chew, while Maria's eyes shot nervously to my father, who was in turn glaring at the old woman as though he might murder her on the spot. The others, suddenly on edge, stared silently; my brothers Jonisio and Belizar, so much like their father; Jose, skinny and sick-looking; Lorin, young and handsome, and his chubby sister Julia, then Judith and finally Marina, the eldest and prettiest of the girls, her face half hidden behind long, black, curly hair.
"Don't be ridiculous mama," said Maria finally, as though Firmina must be joking. "She's only a child for God's sakes. You didn't teach me anything until I was eighteen!" She caught Moises eye again and knew immediately that she had said too much. Reminding him that she herself had at some point in the past studied witchcraft was not a good idea.
"The girl has natural power," said Firmina calmly, "I believe she has great potential." My skin tingled, the hairs on it all standing up as a jolt of energy rushed through my heart and spread right to my fingertips. If I learned to talk with the spirits, I thought, I need never fear my father ever again.
"You can't teach spells to a little girl," Maria protested, almost pleading now, "you'll mess with her head!" I shot my mother a disappointed look, but then my eyes drifted to my father and I understood what was happening. Maria was trying to diffuse the situation with words for fear that Moises might decide to take care of it some other way.
"Not if I do it correctly," said Firmina. "You underestimate the girl."
"Enough of this nonsense!" snapped Moises, getting sharply to his feet and hurling his cup towards the washing-up basin where it smashed into pieces. Everyone in the room flinched. Everyone but my grandmother. "You will not teach her that rubbish," said Moises, slamming his hand on the table and pointing a warning finger at her. "I forbid it."
The old woman peered calmly back at him, but did not reply, and after a moment he lowered his hand and looked away. "Come on," he growled, and together my brothers and sisters and I rose immediately, reflexively, to follow him. "Time to work."
I was the last to leave. I loitered by the table, but though my grandmother smiled at me, she didn't seem to have anything more to say on the subject, and my mother gave me a warning look, so I left reluctantly and made as if to follow my older sisters to the stable to tend to the horses. As soon as I was sure I was out of sight, however, I doubled back and crept up to the kitchen window to listen.
"What in Heaven's name do you think you're doing?" I heard my mother burst out, exasperated.
"I know you do your best," my grandmother replied, "to protect her from that monster." I raised my head just enough to peer through the window. My mother looked annoyed, but chose not to quarrel with my grandmother's choice of words. "But clearly it is not enough," Firmina went on. "It's not your fault Maria," she added quickly, "I should have done more to help, but what's done is done and we cannot change the past." She picked up her stick, which had been propped against the table, and slowly rose to her feet.
My mother looked on the verge of tears. Firmina hugged and kissed her, and stroked her soft, golden hair as though comforting a young child. "I have to leave today," she said at last.
"But you just got here!" protested my mother, disappointment etched in every line of her sorrowful face.
"I must prepare," said Firmina, "if we are to do this properly. Take care of her until I return." I ducked hurriedly out of sight again as she turned and walked towards the door, her stick clicking on the wooden floor with each step. Then it stopped, and in the moment's silence I could hear my own heart thumping in my chest. "Take care of yourself as well," my grandmother said, quietly. "This dangerous journey we are on has only just begun."
CHAPTER FOUR
The Warning
SOMETHING EVIL WAS coming. I couldn't put my finger on it as I stepped out of the house into the dim light of the pre-dawn, but I felt it strongly in every fibre of my being. The forest mist hung eerily all around, I could sense it closing in, clutching at me like cold, ethereal fingers and making the hairs on the back of my neck bristle.
Almost a week had passed since my grandmother returned home, and I thought that the old lady's ritual to purify the spirits here must have worn off. As the days passed, my initial joy at learning that she intended to teach me witchcraft had withered like a thirsty vine. Every time I heard a sound that might be the horse and chariot returning, my heart leapt and my head snapped around to see the cause of it, but each time I was mistaken. I found myself wondering constantly about the conversation between my mother and grandmother after I had left the kitchen tha
t day. Had my mother forbidden my grandmother to teach me magic just as my father had? Had she sent her away so that I couldn't learn?
Whenever I asked about it, my mother simply gave me a stern look and some job to do to keep my mind occupied. But witchcraft was all that I wanted to think about. It was the only thing I thought might be able to save me from my enemy.
With an admonishing shriek, Chips came hurtling out of the door, leapt at my back and clambered up to secure his usual spot at my neck, his tiny hands and feet gentle yet firm as they fastened to me. I often wished that the little monkey could speak so that I might know what on earth was going through his little monkey mind when he did things, but this morning his meaning was quite clear: how dare you leave me behind! I reached back and stroked his soft yellow fur, giggling with happiness that at least someone there loved me.
"At least I'll always have you," I said. "Come on Chips, let's get you some breakfast." Hunching my shoulders to deflect the mist's unsettling grasp, I set off across the yard towards the stable to begin my day.
Weekdays meant milking the cows, then breakfast, then school. The school itself was really just a bare wooden shed at the corner of the farm, in the direction of the village. There had been some disagreement amongst the neighbours about where it should be built, with each wanting it on their land, but Moises had gotten his way as he usually did. Not that he derived any joy from children learning to read and write, of course. The school had been built on his land only so that he could keep a beady eye on things, and so that his own children never had to leave the farm. Leaving the farm might give us a false sense of freedom, and that would never do. We belonged to him, and he never missed an opportunity to remind us of it.
Daughter of the Forest: Diary of an Assassin Page 2