The light was fading fast now, but I spotted my target right away, a flickering oil lamp dangling from his right hand, his familiar, stalking gait carrying him towards the forest. I hesitated. Going into the forest alone at night was not smart. What if I got lost? What if I got eaten? The panthers were most active at night, people said. Or worse, what if my father saw me and decided to put a stop to my troublemaking once and for all while nobody was watching? Everyone I could think of, my mother, my grandmother, my brothers and sisters, Laura, Paolo, all of them would have told me not to go. Yet my skinny little legs had already begun carrying me forwards. I had to be quick, or he would disappear out of sight and then I would never find him.
Keeping as low as I could and with my eyes fixed on the small, swinging yellow light, I scampered towards the trees and was soon enveloped within them. The forest was still noisy after dark, but it was a different kind of noise. The birds called out low warnings, rather than shrill greetings, and the voices of the monkeys high above sounded urgent and afraid. Darkness brought danger, the animals all understood that, so why didn't I?
My heart pounding hard in my chest, my eyes found the lamp again, blinking as it passed quickly behind trees in the distance. As I chased after it, new dangers began to occur to me. What if my father heard my coming and thought I was an animal? I imagined myself slung over his shoulders, limp and bloodied like the boar he had killed the day he had shot Chips’ mother. But curiosity had taken a hold of me, and the thought of my poor, lost little monkey galvanised me. I had to find out what he was up to.
After only a minute or two, the lamp I was following began to look brighter, and I realised it was because my father had stopped. Cautiously, carefully, darting from tree to tree for cover, I crept closer to see what he was doing.
Moises had come to a halt in the middle of a small clearing. In the flickering lamplight I could see him bending over something, and I heard a sound like hollow stones scraping against each other. As I edged nearer, I realised that the light had become two lights, then three. He was lighting candles, bright red ones as I could see the tops of them now under their blossoming flames.
Not twenty feet from where my father was standing, crouched amongst the roots of a giant Kapok tree, I saw with a cold shock what the scraping sound had been. Atop a pair of thick logs standing side by side was spread a layer of broken branches, dotted with the red candles and, I could see now, bleached white skulls staring out around the clearing with hollow, yawning eyes. At first I thought they were human skulls, but they were too small for that. These were monkey skulls.
I felt sick. I might have been sick right there and then if I weren't so terrified of being discovered. Had my father killed all those monkeys himself, or had he just found them lying on the ground? Even as this horrible question occurred to me, it was interrupted by my father's voice. "In the name of the true God," he growled, reading the words from a small, leather-bound book, "I invite you to bestow your dark power upon me." He kicked at the ground, sending clouds of dust spiralling around him. "You have my soul," he chanted in a low, dead voice, "I do my work in your name and you protect me. Keep me strong and I will rejoice and sacrifice to you."
Moises bent down and reached into his bag, and my heart leapt into my mouth in dread at what he might produce from it, but my father's hand withdrew holding a clear glass bottle. The reflections of the candle flames danced across its surface, making the amber liquid inside sparkle as though imbued with some sort of magical power. "May it be so," he said, wrenching the cork from the bottle and sprinkling the liquid over the altar. It hissed as it met the fire, and a chill ran down my spine as I thought it sounded like a thin, serpentine voice answering my father's prayer.
Every fibre of my being wanted to run, but I found myself paralysed and helpless to do anything but watch as Moises stood in silence, bathed in the eerie orange light of the flames. He made a movement that I couldn't decipher with his back to me, but then I saw the knife flash in his right hand. Slowly, deliberately, he moved the blade across and pressed it into his left palm. I winced. I could almost feel my own skin slicing open as I watched.
My father swept his bleeding hand slowly over the candles, then one by one extinguished them with his fingers before replacing the book and bottle in his bag and cleaning his blade on the ground. I didn't unfreeze until I realised with a shock of fear that he was heading right towards me. I threw myself back amongst the roots and made myself as small as possible, convinced nonetheless that he had seen my and expecting to be grabbed at any moment. I could smell him now, that disgusting smell of dirt and sweat now mingled with alcohol that tickled my nose and almost made my sneeze. I braced myself as I heard his footsteps only inches away, but they did not stop. Mastering my fear, I raised my head and saw my father's silhouette getting smaller and smaller as he walked away.
I waited until I was sure he wouldn't hear, then scrambled to my feet and crept into the clearing. I had no lamp of course, and nothing with which to re-light the candles, but my eyes were growing accustomed to the dark now and I could see the altar plainly, the ghostly white skulls almost glowing at its centre. There were other things, too, that I could see now close-up. A long, shimmering snake coiled around the skulls and candles, and I jumped back when I saw its face turned towards me before realising that it was dead.
Impulsively, I flung out my arms and pushed the whole structure hard. The logs tumbled over, rustling dead leaves and crunching branches beneath them as they fell, and the little skulls cracked sickeningly as they bounced to the ground. I recoiled and kicked out, catching one of them with my leg and sending it spinning into the trees. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the red candles lying nearby and I made a grab for it, picking it up and hurling it into the darkness.
"They won't help you now!" I declared stubbornly, standing triumphant amidst the ruined offering. I was sure that I had done the right thing, but that hissing voice came back to me and I felt the darkness pressing in. Something was there.
I put my head down and ran, and ran, tripping and tumbling over roots and branches, the urgent voices of the forest creatures willing me to keep going until finally I burst out into fresh air and saw the house ahead of me.
It wasn't safety, exactly, not while he was there. But for tonight, at least, I felt like I had won, and for now that was enough.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Protection
"MY GRANDMOTHER ARRIVES today!" I announced happily, wringing the cool water from my long, red hair and laying down alongside Laura on the riverbank.
"You told me like a dozen times already," Laura replied, sounding amused.
"I wonder if she’ll bring my birthday present," I wondered, ignoring the jibe.
"Oh, is it your birthday?" asked Laura.
"Soon!" I said.
"How old are you going to be?" asked Laura, straight-faced. "Six? Seven?" I smacked her on the arm.
"Eleven," I replied, sulkily.
"Really?" Laura pretended to look surprised, but the trace of a grin was playing around the corners of her mouth.
"I wonder what she’ll give me," I wondered aloud.
"A doll?" suggested Laura, mischievously. I glared at her. "A nice one!" she went on. "A bald one."
"Don't be silly!" I pouted, smacking her again. "I don't play with dolls. I'm not a baby like you."
"Well if you say so," Laura shrugged, closing her eyes and pulling her hat down over her pale face. "Hey," she added hesitantly, "is your grandmother really a witch?"
"Who told you that?" I frowned.
"My mother said she made a magic potion for a boy in the village who was dying," said Laura, without looking out from under her hat, "and the next day he was cured."
"She’s a healer," I corrected her, glowing with pride at the thought of my grandmother saving the boy's life, "not a witch. And she’s going to teach me to make potions like that too."
"Ai," replied Laura, dismissively, "yours will probably just taste dis
gusting and not do anything."
"They will too," I replied, sulkily.
"Or turn you into a frog maybe," said Laura. I hit her again.
I had hardly been able to sleep the previous night, my mind racing thinking about what I had seen in the woods, and wondering what would happen when my grandmother arrived. I had already resolved to tell Firmina about Moises and his ritual, even if it meant I got into trouble for following him. She would know what to do about it.
There was a skip in my step as I made my way back to the farm that afternoon, and it turned into a run when I saw what I had been waiting for sitting on the front porch.
"Avo!" I cried, racing to meet my grandmother and throwing my arms around her.
"Sweet child," Firmina laughed, ruffling my curly hair. "Where have you been?"
"Swimming in the river," I said, "with my friend Laura."
"The pale girl?" asked Firmina. I nodded. "She’s a child of the moon, that one." She saw me gazing up at her, eager for an explanation, but declined to provide one. "I have a gift for you," she whispered, as though it were a ghostly secret. My eyes lit up and I clapped my hands together, bouncing up and down on the balls of my bare feet.
The old woman paused dramatically, then reached under her chair and produced a wooden box about the size of a shoe box. It bore no markings, or any clue as to what might be inside, but it looked old and I was almost bursting with excitement. I hovered my hands above it, wiggling my fingers and trying to sense what it might be. My grandmother laughed again, enjoying drawing out the moment, then opened it up slowly like a treasure chest.
Inside lay a neat bundle of white cloth which, as I picked it up gently with my fingertips, I realised was a dress just like the one my grandmother wore to perform her rituals. I felt my eyes filling with tears. I had always wanted to be like her, and this was a big step towards that. Towards being able to take care of myself. Towards freedom.
"Does this mean you're going to teach me?" I blurted out, clutching the dress to my heart.
Firmina smiled.
"Come on," she replied, gently taking the dress from my trembling fingers and shaking it
loose, "let's put it on."
"Avo..." I began as she pulled the clean, white cloth over my head.
"Yes, child?" Firmina replied.
"I have to tell you about..." I glanced around and through the door of the house to make sure nobody else was within earshot, and lowered my voice just to be sure. "I have to tell you about something I saw last night."
"Oh?" she asked, one eyebrow raised. "What did you see?"
I told the whole story, from seeing my father with his gun and knowing he was up to no good, to following him out into the woods, and explaining as best I could the ritual that he had performed. When I was done, my grandmother looked shocked and troubled.
"What does it mean, Avo?" I asked, cautiously. "What was he doing?"
"Meddling with powers he doesn't understand," my grandmother replied, frowning. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, after..." she paused, eyeing me thoughtfully, as though trying to make up her mind about something.
"After what?" I pressed breathlessly. "What powers?"
"I will tell you," she said finally, "if you promise me that you won't try anything like that yourself."
"Of course not!" I scowled. "Why would I want to cut myself and touch dead snakes and monkey skulls?"
"Promise," repeated Firmina firmly.
"I promise," I said, confused. First my mother, now my grandmother seemed to think I might turn into my father. What did they know that I didn't?
"Alright," she said, apparently satisfied. "Now come," she got to my feet and picked up a little cloth bag from the wooden boards next to her. "I need your help."
I walked with her a short distance from the house. I thought we would be going into the forest, where my grandmother often went to perform her rituals or to gather herbs and other ingredients, but instead she came to a stop out in the open.
"This will do," she said, looking up to the clear, blue sky, then this way and that, almost seeming to taste the air on her lips. "Mark out a circle around us," she said, passing me a fat, light-brown canvas pouch about the size of a ripe mango. I pulled it open and found that it was full of salt. Diligently, I dug in with my fingers and started shaking out an unbroken line on the ground. “Stay inside the circle while you draw it,” my grandmother said as she retrieved four thin, white candles from her bag. “Once it is made, it must not be broken until the ritual is complete.”
“Yes avo,” I replied. As the thin salt trail encircled us, the air seemed to become still, and silent. I thought it might be my imagination at first, but my grandmother seemed to sense it too.
Just as I completed the task, she lifted her head and peered into the sky.
“Now,” she said after a moment, “you know what a pentagram looks like, don’t you?”
“Yes avo,” I replied. I had seen her draw them herself many times.
“Good,” she said. “Make one here, so that its points touch the edge of the circle.”
I did as I was told, while the old woman placed the candles around the circle and lit them.
Finally she took the pouch from my hands and knelt down on the ground.
“Come, sit,” she said, patting the grass in front of her, “and repeat after me. Little guardians…”
“Little guardians,” I said, the hairs all over my body prickling as I sank to the ground and watched the candles flickering around us.
“Infinite beings of light,” my grandmother continued, “by day you bring peace, by night the gifts of magic. Invisible guardians, protect all four corners of my soul. The four corners of my home. The four corners of my heart.”
I repeated every word, waiting for something to happen. I didn’t know what to expect. She hadn’t said, and I hadn’t asked.
“May it be so,” she said finally.
“May it be so,” I repeated. As I uttered those final words, a gentle, tickling sensation ran up my spine and then spread all over me like water over a stone.
“Do you feel that?” she asked, smiling.
"I do!" I replied, breathlessly. "I feel it!"
"So long as you have the spirits on your side, no harm will come to you, do you understand?"
"Yes Avo," I said, happily. All of my troubles were melting away as I breathed the crisp air and felt the warm embrace of the world. So long as I had my grandmother to guide me, I was sure, everything would be alright.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Fire
"WHAT DO YOU think the world is like outside of this farm?" I asked. I was sitting with my brother Lorin underneath Chips' mango tree, sheltering from the roasting hot midday sun. Usually seeing the tree made me sad, but today I couldn't help but be full of optimism. My grandmother had spent the past few days teaching me various simple spells to protect myself and the others in the house, and I felt for the first time in as long as I could remember that things were going to be okay. Liberated temporarily from the tyranny of my father, my thoughts now wandered to a possible life after childhood, something I had never really allowed myself to consider before.
"It's more comfortable for sure," replied Lorin, sinking his teeth into one of the ripe fruits and chewing thoughtfully. Lorin was my favourite sibling. We weren't twins, but as much as we thought and behaved alike we may as well have been. My brothers all wore shirts and pants that my mother made out of cloth my father brought back from his trips, but Lorin could never be seen wearing anything other than a raggedy pair of shorts. He had smooth, dark skin and straight black hair, and the others called him Tarzan. It was a nickname well deserved. While most of my father’s children accepted their roles in his open prison like docile cattle, Lorin and I were free spirits who loved to run in the forest and swim in the river and, like now, to wind each other up with silly stories.
"How do you mean?" I asked, curiously.
"Well," said Lorin, "in the city they have the
se things called 'sofas' that people sit on, and they're big, and soft, and very comfortable."
I stared at him with one eyebrow raised, unable to tell whether he was messing with me or not.
"Sofas?" I said.
"I'm not making it up!" he protested. "I saw them in a magazine."
"I know about sofas!" I laughed. "But you could have said anything about anything that might exist out in the world, and you thought of sofas?"
"What's wrong with sofas?" he asked, looking hurt. I was sure he was messing with me now.
"Nothing's wrong with them," I replied, "but they're not very exciting, are they?"
"Well what do you think the outside world is like then?" he demanded.
"Okay," I began, sitting forward, "well in the city they have these cars that are like chariots made of metal--"
"I know about cars," interrupt Lorin, "that's not very interesting."
"But!" I said quickly. "Did you know that they can also fly?"
"Cars can't fly," said Lorin, "you're crazy."
"They can!" I insisted. "If we had a car right now we could go anywhere in the world and nobody could stop us."
"I think you must have fallen out of a tree and hit your head or something," said Lorin, seriously.
"Well they're more exciting than sofas," I said, sulking.
"Fine," he replied, "you have your flying car and I'll have my sofa, and we'll see who's happier."
"Fine," I pouted, folding my arms as if to settle the matter. "Hey," I added after a moment,
"you should get back to the plantation or you'll be in trouble."
"Not today," said Lorin, stretching out his arms and laying back on the ground with his hands behind his head. I looked at him quizzically. "Oh, you didn't know?" he asked, enjoying the moment, "our father left on one of his trips this morning."
Daughter of the Forest: Diary of an Assassin Page 4