Rebelled, an Arelia LaRue Novel #7

by Kira Saito

  “You want me to terrorize and murder all of the slave holders on this island?” I asked incredulously. “And you seriously believe the Maroons will accept me as their leader?”

  “Oui. In the Kongo, it should have been done long ago, but perhaps I was too weak.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be the spirit of love?” I asked surprised by her vicious side which had suddenly manifested.

  “Love comes in many different forms. I am doing this for the love of people who have been trodden on for far too long.”

  As much as I wanted to immediately end the cycle of suffering that so many found themselves in, I wasn't sure of mass genocide was the best possible solution. "Why me?" I asked curious as to why I should be the one to carry out these acts of violence and not some other slave.

  “I’ve told you so many times, you have been blessed and chosen by God Himself to birth a new kingdom free of suffering, one that will bring justice to all the ones who have lost their lives. This island will be the capital of the New World, and the New World Order which will be a time of great peace for all nations. You have supernatural power within you that will manifest with time.”

  “If I have such supernatural power, where is it?”

  “In time, my child, in time,” she assured me soothingly. “I will be back soon, and I need you to be ready for war when I return. Promise me this.”

  I thought of all of the injustice I had seen and all that I had experienced. I wasn't weak, but I did see value in all human life and was a man of honor, not cowardly tactics. "I will consider your plan," I said not wanting to disappoint her.

  “We don’t have much time,” she warned before she left me in silence with a multitude of thoughts racing through my head.

  A knock on the wooden door interrupted my thoughts. Before I could get up and answer, the door flung open. “The knock wasn’t necessary. You can’t say that I am cruel all of the time. Get up,” the manager, who I had come to know as Marcel, ordered. His angry brown eyes looked at me in their normal, distrusting manner. For a second, I worried that he had overheard my plots and schemes and was here to torture me with one of the many methods Erzulie had described. I rose from the bed without question.

  “Come here.” He shackled my wrists together with heavy iron chains, and the panic within me continued to rise.

  “What have I done?” I asked knowing that silence would have been a better choice of weapon.

  "All the right things, I knew that you would make a worthy driver, and the master agrees. He wants to see you at the main house to confirm your promotion."

  “Driver?” I utterly despised those colored men who waved their whips in the air and provoked so much fear in the hearts of the slaves.

  “Oui, one day if you’re lucky, you’ll be promoted to manager like me and perhaps earn your freedom.” Those words were the ones I needed to hear. This plan seemed more rational than the one Erzulie had outlined. When I gained my freedom, I would find her and finally learn her name. In blind obedience, I followed him to the grand house which I had never seen or been to before.

  The house, an impressive structure made out of wood and bricks, was built on pillars that were lifted four meters above the earth to protect it from any potential flooding and to fend it from slave uprisings. It boasted a broad spreading roof, ten thin wood columns, generous galleries, and multiple French doors and windows that were wide open allowing the gentle ocean breeze to glide through it. Surrounded by luscious hibiscus blooms which ranged in color from peach, yellow and red, stately palm trees, blooms of roses, wild orchids, and bushes of pink bougainvilleas, it cleverly hid the brutality that occurred in the fields which were mere meters away.

  I followed Marcel into the house and was overwhelmed by the extravagant display of wealth that filled the main drawing room which was overflowing with heavy imported furniture from France. Walls were painted an earthy brown, wooden floors were spotless and gleamed under the romantic glow of the candlelit chandelier, marble busts of Greek gods and goddesses lined the walls, canaries sung in golden cages, Renaissance-era paintings glared at incoming guests as did gild golden mirrors. Finely dressed slaves in crisp shirts and cotton dresses scurried to and fro busily preparing for dinner. A wave of homesickness washed over me as I thought of the extravagant house that once had been mine and the many slaves we too had owned.

  “Master, he is here,” said Marcel to the thin blond-haired man I had only seen once since I had arrived at the plantation. Rage filled me as he lay lazily on a cream-colored chaise and sipped scarlet wine from a crystal goblet. His blue eyes appraised me from head to toe, and I could tell that he was impressed by my physique.

  "Marcel, you weren't lying. What an impressive creature. He is just the kind of driver we could use. Someone his size will keep the others in fear which means more sugar and more profit in our coffers." He ignored me altogether and addressed Marcel directly. My body tensed, and Erzulie’s plan seemed more and more inviting as the seconds dragged into minutes.

  Marcel gave his master a bright smile. His white teeth gleamed proudly under the soft glow of the candles.

  "Elena! You know how I like to be fanned while I have my wine. Get in here!" he ordered to a slave. My heart stopped as she walked into the room. She was dressed in nothing but a simple white cotton dress printed with tiny flowers; her bare feet were small and delicate against the rough wood of the floor, and her fingers long and elegant as they carefully held a printed Chinese fan. Unlike the other slaves, she didn’t wear a headscarf which meant her hair hung loose and wild exactly as it had been on the dock. She avoided eye contact as she walked towards the master and fanned the beads of sweat that dripped down his forehead. Her long thick eyelashes fluttered coyly as she glanced up to meet my gaze. Her sugary scent filled my nostrils. For a brief second, I believed that there was a living God above. She gave me a small smile, and the urge to break my chains and kiss her full rose colored lips grew.

  “Marcel, is the savage eyeing my Elena?” asked the master.

  I felt a quick kick to my shin, and I lowered my eyes. “No master, I assure you he isn't," said Marcel quickly trying to save his life as well as mine.

  “Look at me,” the master ordered.

  I raised my eyes and met his glare which wasn’t full of anger. It was full of wicked amusement. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he asked grabbing Elena by her dainty wrist and forcing her to sit on his lap.

  I didn’t respond nor did I dare to look at her.

  “Well, isn’t she?” he asked again.

  I nodded reluctantly not wanting to give him any more pleasure or sick satisfaction.

  "Well, she is all mine," he said, as he gently nuzzled her neck and seductively kissed it. Elena laughed sweetly and pretended that every kiss exhilarated her to no end. Or maybe every kiss did give her the amount of pleasure she expressed. "No one looks or touches my property without paying with their life," he warned. At his words, the resolve to call on Erzulie that night and kick start her plan grew. I would take Elena with me and set her free. This bastard would die.

  “Marcel, give him the position of driver, but if I ever catch him looking at Elena again, I will boil him alive."

  “Oui master,” said Marcel. The humid air was thick, ripe with tension and jealousy. The rough manager dragged me out of the room and back to my cabin. “Don’t you ever look at her again,” he warned. “She belongs to the master and the master only.” I wanted desperately to rebel and refuse, but I hung my head low and agreed.

  Once back in my cabin, I stared at the wooden ceiling and willed for Erzulie to come back to me. “Erzulie, please come back. Hear me. I’m ready to be free and to free others.” Hours passed, but she refused to answer me. I could sense that she was angry over my display of weakness and readiness to accept the position of driver.

  Sleep eluded me, and I stayed awake listening to the hoots of owls and broken cry of midnight birds. A soft knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. I answere
d the door, and there she stood. Her eyes were large and luminous under the pale moonlight. Her skin shone ethereally, and her delicate dress billowed in the soft wind. In her hand, she held an oil lamp and in the other a bottle of brandy. “Can I come in?” she asked sweetly.

  I was speechless and moved aside to let her into the cabin. Embarrassment overtook me as she glanced at the scruffy room. It was nothing compared to the main house. “I brought you this,” she said handing me the bottle. “I’m sorry about what happened back in the house. Pierre is irrationally jealous of me.” She spoke, and it was as if I had known her my entire life.

  "A real man maintains his dignity even in the most horrific of circumstances," I said. Suddenly, I felt like a noble again, and this Pierre was a mere man who was a noble rival fighting for the same woman. May the best noble win. She smiled shyly as I took the bottle from her hand. "Why are you here?" I asked putting her on the spot.

  “I saw you on the dock. The day you arrived... I suggested that Marcel purchase you… I’ve heard rumors and whispers, and once I saw you, I knew that they were true. They have to be true.”

  My spirit was infused with an instabile fire. She had seen me, and she was the reason I was here. “But why? Doesn’t that make the master, I mean Pierre, mad with jealousy?”

  “He owns my body not my soul,” she said with honesty.

  I opened the bottle and put it to her lips. She drank with unburnable thirst. “Who owns your soul?”

  “Dieu,” she said simply as if it was the only obvious answer. “It belongs to the maker and the maker only.”

  “You believe in fables?” I asked.

  “We all have to believe in something to stay alive.” She took the bottle from my hand and took another sip.

  “Do you believe in spirits?” I asked not only captivated by her beauty but her quick wit and sincerity.

  "How can you not? They are everywhere, and they hear everything. They're the ones who told me that you are the one we are waiting for. This brutality and savagery cannot go on any longer. It simply cannot." An amused smile danced upon my lips at her tone which was full of child-like conviction, unwavering faith, and passion.

  “And what particular spirit told you this?” I asked knowing that Erzulie’s propaganda was spreading across the island quickly, and she was, in fact, preparing an army for me.

  Her eyes clouded, and she examined me intently. “I’m not as delicate as I appear,” she said. “I am friends with the Maroons who live up in the mountains, and I am not afraid to join them. They’re the ones who told me that the spirits are up there waiting for you.”

  “I’m not accusing you of being a delicate flower,” I said ignoring the Maroons and hounding for answers on her relationship with the master. “It’s just clear that you enjoy the company of Pierre.”

  “You bastard!” She gave me a slap so full of force that it made my head buzz and cheek sting with even more desire. “If you’re so brave why are you still here?”

  I shrugged. “I just got here. I’m waiting for the right time to leave, which may be sooner than later.”

  “And so am I!” she exclaimed with fire and passion.

  “Have you been here long?” I asked softly taking the bottle from her hand and placing it aside. I didn’t want to be intoxicated more than I already was because I refused to miss being in the moment with her.

  She shrugged. “Only since the day I was born. And if you must know, Pierre is my brother. Well, half-brother. I suppose I’m lucky, aren’t I? I’m privileged. What right do I have going out into that savage world, fighting for a war that we’ll probably lose? All I have to do is close my eyes, spread my legs, and pretend that I am in heaven. Surely there are worse fates than that. ”

  "Oh." I quickly put two and two together. "Your brother refuses to free you?"

  “Why would he when he can have me for free at his disposal whenever he wants? He doesn’t see me as his sister, only as the prettiest slave on the plantation. Sometimes I think we humans are no better than animals. For someone who has the heart and body of a warrior, you do have a sentimental side.”

  “You’ve noticed my body, have you? I suppose you barge into all the slave's cabins and appraise their bodies?” I asked teasingly in an attempt to pull her out of her gloom and sudden onset of bitterness. Her tiny fists clenched in fury, and my heart melted. Without another thought, I pulled her close to me and pressed my lips against hers. It was a move that would have cost me my life or worse, but I was willing to die for her.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Breda Plantation, Saint Domingue, 1727

  Lover’s Dream

  At first, she resisted and pulled away, but then she crashed into me, and her eyes closed. “I’m not going to be another of your conquests,” she said finally escaping from my arms after a few moments. “I am only here because I’m told that you’re going to stop the…”

  I hushed her with another fervent kiss. “I know. I’m the one you’re all waiting for, but you see the only one I’ve been waiting for is you.”

  Her large eyes widened, and she smiled slowly, almost shyly. “Pierre will kill you if he ever hears you speak those words.” I knew that Erzulie was watching and listening to the words I was speaking, but I didn’t care. She was wrong. Love wasn’t going to be the end of my power. It would be the beginning. “Say the word and Pierre will be a distant memory.”

  “What are you going to do? Kidnap me, run away to the mountains and join the Maroons?” she asked teasingly. “I’m not afraid of that, you know. We need to take action. Massive action.”

  “Well, aren’t you the rebel?” I asked taken aback by her ambition. “Why now after all of these years? Surely, it can’t only be because of the whispers and rumors that are swirling around this island that I am going to magically end slavery and bring an end to this suffering.”

  She nervously paced the room with a tight, worried expression suddenly overtaking her delicate features. She wrung her hands as if she wanted to say something but was too afraid to tell another soul. I took her hand into mine and led her to the bed. She took a seat and listlessly stared at her toes. I knew that her desperation went deeper than slavery itself. There was something far greater troubling her. “What is it? Please tell me what’s tormenting you, and I promise I will make it disappear.”

  Her mouth was twisted into a childlike frown and without warning, she burst into tears. I wasn't accustomed to random outbursts of emotion. Back home, the noble women cleverly hid their true feelings under carefully constructed masks. I found her reaction enchanting and genuine, yet at the same time, it made me uncomfortable to see her in so much pain. "Do you want to know?" she asked softly. "It's silly, so common that it's not even worth mentioning."

  “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t think it wasn’t worth mentioning,” I said trying not be distracted by the outline of her body under her flimsy dress.

  "I'm only telling you because I have no one else. Everyone I've ever loved is dead. My mother, my brothers and my sisters each of them worked to death or brutally murdered. The other slaves despise me because of my position within the household. Can you believe that there are ranks even within our miserable world? I know the only reason I am alive is that I'm pretty. I'm not ignorant of this fact, but now with a baby on the way, Pierre will tire of me, and I know the fate that awaits the child especially if it's a boy, and even worse if it's a girl."

  “You’re with child?” I asked suddenly feeling guilty at the thoughts that were running through my head and the way I had objectified her body. “Is it Pierre’s?” An irrational jealousy took hold of me.

  “Oui, I can’t have it here on this plantation. It can’t be born a slave. Death is better than slavery. I know he won’t care if it’s his. He has other children, and all of them work out in the fields.”

  “Is that why you’re drinking brandy? You hope to murder the baby before it’s born?” I asked.

  Her tears continued to flow. "If you can
't help me and my child escape, please kill me. I know you've got the power to do it painlessly. If you won't kill me, then please go and do what we all expect you to do. Free us all. Free me before this child is born and another soul is birthed into this devastation.”

  I wrapped my arms around her and wiped away her tears. “I highly doubt I can abolish slavery in a few months’ time, and I can’t kill you because that would mean the death of me as well. Can’t you feel how my heart beats for you?”

  “You don’t even know me,” she whispered while resting her head against my chest. “Besides, that’s the line you probably use with all of the women.” She had somewhat calmed down.

  I shook my head. “We don’t usually engage in conversation.”

  “That’s not a very comforting response,” she said reflecting on my level of depravity.

  "The point I am trying to make in the most inelegant manner possible is that I love you and refuse to live my life without you. We can leave tonight if you want. I have the resources to survive in the city. I'm educated, and we could blend in Le Cap without anyone giving us a second glance. We don't have to be participants in this brutality, and we don't have to be the saviors of everyone. The best we can do is save ourselves and the baby." All of my ambition slipped away as did Erzulie’s plan for my future. She would have to find another king because I was no longer running for the position. I envisioned my future with Elena and the baby. We would live simple, happy lives. When the child was old enough, I would teach him or her how to hunt, fish and all of the languages that I knew.