The Jumbie God's Revenge

by Tracey Baptiste

  Corinne shivered. She wondered how everyone was making out in the caves below. Did they have blankets? Could they make fire? Was there enough to drink?

  “You look tired,” Aunty Lu said. “Come.” She led them through the rain to a nearby house.

  Inside smelled of sweet wood, cocoa, and fresh linens. Corinne was grateful for the dry and warmth, but she worried about her papa. When he didn’t see them come back like they had promised, he wouldn’t be able to rest.

  Aunty Lu wrapped them in towels and pulled out linens from a carved wood wardrobe.

  Corinne’s muscles ached. She helped spread the sheets and blankets on rolled mattresses and cushions on the floor, side by side with the others making up their beds for the night.

  In a moment when Aunty Lu was close to Corinne’s ear, she whispered, “He doesn’t talk much, does he?”

  “Malik?” Corinne whispered back. “You have to know how to listen.”

  She nodded, but tears welled in her eyes. “They were gone so long. Who took care of them?”

  “They took care of each other,” Corinne said.

  Aunty Lu clasped her hands at her heart. “They were alone? They were just babies. It’s no wonder he doesn’t talk.” She jutted her mouth toward Malik and clucked her tongue.

  “They weren’t always alone,” Corinne said. At a glance from Aunty Lu, she stiffened. “I mean, they had each other, and Dru, and me.” Hugo was a story for the boys to tell themselves.

  “Oh, of course,” Aunty Lu said. “I meant, maybe losing his parents, and being separated from all of us . . .”

  “What happened to them? Ava and Diego?” Corinne asked.

  Aunty Lu closed her eyes for a moment and sighed deeply. “They took the boys down the mountain for supplies. It was Malik’s first time. Bouki had gone dozens of times before. It was always the same: a quick trip down to the markets and back home in two, three days. But then it was four days, then five.” Aunty Lu’s breath rattled as if something was stuck in her chest. “When they didn’t return after a week, we went to search for them. We found Ava first, near the base of the mountain. And then Diego. Both had large stones in their hands as if they were trying to fend something off. They had been attacked by an animal. The boys were gone. We thought they had been carried off.”

  Corinne’s throat burned. “Shouldn’t you have checked? Couldn’t you have looked better?” Her voice cracked and she was near tears.

  Aunty Lu embraced her in a pair of thick, warm arms. “We searched everywhere we could. Down in the market, and all the way out to the sea. We asked everyone, but no one had seen two little boys.”

  Corinne wiped her face in her shirt.

  “We gave up.” Aunty Lu glanced at the boys. “We shouldn’t have.”

  Corinne wanted to know how long they looked and how far before they gave up. What was the exact measurement of time and space before someone stopped looking? But Aunty Lu changed her tone.

  “And you? Where is your family?”

  “My papa is in the caves with everyone else.”

  “Oh, love,” Aunty Lu said, holding Corinne again. “You will see your papa soon.”

  Aunty Lu hummed and moved to say goodnight to Bouki and Malik. Two smaller children, a boy and girl, came bounding in from the rain and peered around the doorway.

  “You’ve come to see your cousins?” Aunty Lu asked.

  Bouki and Malik looked up.

  “Your father’s family,” Aunty Lu explained, gesturing to the little boy and girl. “Though here, everybody is some kind of pumpkin-vine relation.”

  The children grinned eagerly.

  “So am I making up beds for the two of you as well?”

  They nodded again and filed inside, sitting next to Malik with wonder.

  Aunty Lu got out more linens. She continued to hum, and her tune rose and fell with the wind outside. The two little children took up the pieces of the song and added words.

  Dodo piti popo

  Piti popo pa vle dodo . . .

  Malik tilted his head and giggled, then sang along.

  Zambi a ke mange le

  Sukugnan ke suce san.

  Aunty Lu paused when Malik joined in. Then she began to sing the words, too, as she whipped the sheets out into the air and smoothed them with the palm of her hand.

  “How does Malik know this song?” Dru whispered to Corinne.

  As a reply Corinne pointed to Bouki, whose face had stilled. He seemed dazed and lulled. He looked nothing like the Bouki Corinne knew.

  “What are they singing?” Dru asked him.

  “It’s a lullaby,” he said.

  “Sukugnan ke suce san!” Malik sang with Aunty Lu and the two cousins. Malik bared his teeth at them, making them scream and collapse into giggles on the floor.

  “What does it mean?” Corinne asked.

  “It’s about a baby being eaten by a jumbie,” Bouki said.

  “You can understand the language?” Dru asked. “I’ve never heard it before.”

  “It’s patois,” Bouki said. “My parents spoke it.” As the song started up again, Bouki translated.

  Sleep little baby

  The little baby doesn’t want to sleep

  The jumbie will eat him

  The soucouyant will suck his blood!

  Dru squeezed Corinne’s hand, tightening her grip with every line. Malik and his cousins had settled into a pantomime, with the little ones waiting for Malik to show his teeth and attack.

  “This is a terrible lullaby,” Dru whispered to Corinne.

  “It’s just a song, Dru.” Corinne looked at Aunty Lu. She seemed so nice and helpful. She had greeted them and fed them, and was now making up beds for them. The storm whipped up on the other side of the mountain, but all the danger seemed far away up here on the plateau. Only a thick, soaking rain and a song about children being eaten up troubled them here. Corinne thought about the old woman on the way up with skin as hot as fire, and how she had frightened everyone around her without doing anything at all. Corinne had defended her then, knowing there was nothing to fear. But did she really know? Jumbies were feared for a reason. There was a reason no one ever went into the woods after sunset. There was a reason people walked backwards into their houses late at night. It was so jumbies wouldn’t follow them. Because that was what jumbies did. They tricked people and then killed them.

  As she watched Aunty Lu tuck everyone into the made-up beds, Corinne wondered who this woman was really. She had been deceived by a sweet-looking woman before. Corinne’s hand fluttered down to her thigh where a long, thin scar, winding like a rivulet, cut into the brown of her skin. This had been her reward for letting her guard down because she didn’t see the danger behind a lovely smile.

  She needed to think, but the song, the steaming pastelle, the warm milk, and the fresh, crisp sheets made her sleepy. She would close her eyes just for a moment, then she would think of a way to find out just who Aunty Lu was. Corinne was not going to be deceived twice.

  14

  Into the Fire

  A crack of thunder woke Corinne. It was still pitch-black outside, and for a few moments, she had no idea where she was or how long she had slept. Her surroundings came to her in degrees: first the soft layer of cushions she was sleeping on, then the gentle breathing of her friends, then the dark outline of Aunty Lu’s house. She listened to the sound of rain pounding the roof, the walls, and the soft ground outside.

  Corinne propped herself up on her elbows as she tried to remember everything that had happened the day before. Then across the village, she saw the glow of light deep inside the mountain. It pulsed like a heartbeat. Corinne could almost feel its warmth, even though it was far away and separated by a field of rain. She felt desperate to get closer. She rose up out of her bed, and the sheets that covered her fell away. She knew she
would be soaked walking across the grass, but she didn’t care. That fire would warm and dry her.

  The warmth from the light penetrated her chest and radiated outward until it reached her fingers, her toes, the top of her head. She was going to it, rain or not.

  Standing, Corinne slipped on the smooth, wet wood of the bedroom. Rain must have blown in through the open doorway. She resumed walking more carefully, taking the time to plant one foot solidly on the floor before lifting the other. She reached the doorway and felt the rain against her body. There was a sizzling sound that she couldn’t quite place. For a moment she thought it was the firelight calling her, but that was ridiculous.

  Corinne barely felt either the mud and wet grass beneath her feet or her clothes heavy and soaked with rain. She was too focused on reaching the fire and . . . touching it.

  At the entrance to the passageway cut into the mountain, Corinne spotted someone hunched near the fire. The flames painted the old man bright yellow and orange. Each of his wrinkles made deep striping shadows on his cheeks and forehead. His body was wrapped in a blanket, his long black hair neatly tied at his neck. The old man looked up at Corinne, tilted his head, then looked into the fire again.

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said.

  “You aren’t,” the old man said.

  “The fire looked so . . . inviting.”

  “Fire calls fire.” Every word the old man said was slow and careful.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am the cacique. The elder of the village. I care for everyone here.”

  “Do you know my friends Bouki and Malik?”

  “I know them, their parents, their family.”

  “So they are from here,” Corinne said.

  The cacique nodded. “It is good to have them back.”

  The rain fell harder, in thick torrents that cut them off completely from the rest of the village.

  “And you?” he asked. “Who are you?”

  “Corinne La Mer. I live by the sea.”

  “I can smell the sea on you,” he said. “And the land too. And . . .”

  “What?” Corinne asked.

  “Fire.”

  Corinne knew the smell of fire, the earthy and sharp scent of burning wood, the fresh smell of herbs crisping at the bottom of a pot. Fire brought out the essence of everything, until it consumed it completely. But all Corinne could smell right then was the flat, choking scent of ash.

  “Do you need help getting back inside?” Corinne asked. “You must be uncomfortable sitting on the stones like that. I can walk you back to your house.”

  “I’m watching the storm,” the cacique said. “This is a good place to do that.”

  “Why?” Corinne asked. “There is nothing you can do.”

  “When gods speak we must listen carefully.” He pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders. “Without putting our own selves in the way.”

  “You’re listening to Huracan?”

  “So you know? Huracan summons the wind and rain and wields lightning like a sword. He twirls it in his fingers and jabs it at his mark. He doesn’t miss and he never falters. He will destroy everything in his path if he desires.” The cacique took a slow breath. “I have seen Huracan raze forests and bash mountains, suck grown people into the sea, and pull babies from their mother’s arms.”

  The fire shrunk back a moment, then returned with full force.

  “Why does he do it?” Corinne asked.

  “Why?” the cacique repeated. “People have driven themselves crazy and hurt those around them trying to understand the intention of gods. We can never know. But we are bound to listen.”

  “I never heard about Huracan before today,” Corinne said.

  “He has slept for a long time,” the cacique explained. “But he is ancient as the creatures that roam the forests and live deep beneath the waters of this island.”

  “The jumbies,” Corinne said.

  “And people’s memories are short,” the old man continued. “Once years and years ago there were only the jumbies, or so they thought. They fought with each other over who had the most power, over who would rule. Some jumbies wanted to rule from the land. Others from the sea. Some wanted to rule from the sky. The sky jum­bies got Huracan’s attention. This was his domain. As the three factions fought, swirling the sea, rumbling the land, and whipping up the air, Huracan woke up and rose high above them. He raged. His winds parted and tossed the sea and every creature inside it. He left fish gasping for air on land that had been sucked dry of water. He stripped every leaf from every tree, and plucked each fruit from the branches. Then his winds pulled trees up at the root and flattened entire forests. He screamed into the air and knocked any flying creature back down to earth, pinning them there, broken and unable to get away.

  “He ruled them all. There was no jumbie that could stand against him. Defeated, they agreed Huracan was the strongest. So to keep them in their places, Huracan made them swear a pact that they would each keep to their domain, land, sea, and air, and not fight anymore among themselves. And then he returned to his sleep.

  “But now . . .” The cacique stared into the flame and sighed.

  The fire wasn’t warming Corinne anymore. She felt the cold of the rain as if she were standing in the water. She thought about Severine, who had left the land and was lost now beneath the waves. Corinne had made that happen. She thought about Mama D’Leau, whose opal allowed her to move from water to land. Corinne had delivered that stone to Mama D’Leau.

  “I didn’t know there was an agreement between the jumbies,” Corinne whispered.

  “Ignorance of the facts does not change them,” the cacique said. He stood slowly and the blanket slipped off his shoulders. A lick of flame reached toward the fallen blanket as if to destroy it, but the fire righted itself before touching the fabric. The cacique was smaller than Corinne had imagined, and his hair looked different now, peppered with gray and tight, like cornrows twisted with leaves and twigs. He was bare from the waist up, but what Corinne had thought were pants were the hairy legs of a goat.

  “Papa Bois,” she said.

  “Corinne,” said the jumbie.

  “Is there something we can do to stop Huracan? Is that why you are here?”

  “We must wait for him to do his ill, and hope we are still standing when he has satisfied himself.”

  “He will destroy the island,” Corinne said.

  “That he will,” Papa Bois agreed.

  “You’re just going to sit here by the fire and watch the storm?”

  “What would you have me try?” Papa Bois asked. “I am rooted to this ground. Would you ask me to fly? To swim? To rage against a god I can’t even reach?”

  “Mama D’Leau can swim,” Corinne said. “She can help.”

  “She is being tossed in the sea this minute,” he said. “She can barely help herself. Besides, you know very well that she is not likely to help others.”

  “That isn’t true,” Corinne said. “She helped Ellie and the other mermaids.”

  A smile played at Papa Bois’s mouth. “She did. But it was a different situation. Who would master the sky, Corinne?” he asked. Papa Bois moved away from the fire, but Corinne moved closer to it.

  She bit her lip. It tasted funny and she spat out into the flame. Fire burst upward with a spray of sparks, lighting up Corinne and the jumbie and casting Papa Bois’s shadow against the wall.

  “I met a woman when we were coming up the mountain—”

  “A frail old woman is not going to be of help,” Papa Bois said.

  “How do you know she was old and frail?” Corinne asked.

  Papa Bois looked at her with one eyebrow cocked. “How do you think I know?”

  Corinne scanned her memory for some hint that Papa Bois had been with them on the journey, but no one had
seemed even slightly like him, though now she knew he could change his appearance.

  “If there is nothing to be done, why did you tell me that story?” Corinne asked. “What does it matter if no one can help?”

  Papa Bois shook his head. “No one,” he muttered. “‘No one.’ Is that what I said?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Because you don’t listen.” He let out a sharp breath.

  Corinne looked at him for a long moment, blinking, trying to understand.

  “Who did I say it to?” The ground rumbled beneath him. “Who?” he shouted.

  “You told it to me, to Corinne,” she said.

  “You,” Papa Bois said.

  Corinne looked down at herself. She was standing in the middle of the fire. Flames licked at her body. But it was not exactly her body. Her skin was gone, leaving only her raw flesh, red like the fire and slick as the rain. A scream bubbled up inside her and exploded like mud from an erupting volcano.

  15

  A Long Way Down

  Corinne tried to move away from the flames, but she couldn’t. She felt like she was separate from the fire, but also part of it all at once. Papa Bois watched from a few feet away at first, but as she panicked, he pulled her out by the hand, singeing some of his fur in the process. Several licks of fire came with Corinne, covering her entire body in low orange flames. She pulled away, worried she might set Papa Bois ablaze, but he was unharmed. She wanted to ask what was happening, but she couldn’t find her voice.

  The old jumbie led Corinne back to the house. Her skin lay on the pile of covers. What she had thought were shrugged-off sheets was her own body’s covering. It lay in a sloppy pile of brown with black braids crowning the top, folded into the shirt and pants she had been wearing.

  “Touch it,” Papa Bois said.

  Corinne looked at the flames on her body and how they threw light around the room, across the faces of her friends and Aunty Lu. She could have burned them all. The whole house. The entire village.

  “Touch your skin!” Papa Bois commanded. He took her hand and moved it carefully. The moment her finger touched her own slack flesh, it wrapped around her, clothes and all. It was as simple and easy as slipping back between the sheets. Corinne felt instantly cooler, and weaker, like a snuffed-out candle.