LIFE NEAR THE BONE (8 page)

She was the only angel of the fallen who could do this on her own, without help from another. She was the most powerful, the strongest, the supreme angel of them all.

And now she was a human girl.

Her thoughts painfully returned to what she was doing. She swore at the vines and hacked at the bushes, pulling and tearing, cuts opening on her hands. She would not give up, she couldn’t. She worked furiously, enraged, determined to get her way, to get herself inside the cool, safe cave and away from the prying eyes of both natives and intruders sailing quickly now to her shores.

Finally some of the vegetation gave way and, parting, provided entrance. She squeezed through the narrow opening and stepped into the dark interior where little sunlight entered. She saw it was a large place just as she remembered. The overhead rock was smooth and vaulted and a great many feet above her head. The floor at the entrance was level and the earth soft and dry beneath her bare feet. She stepped forward, hands outstretched, and suddenly stepped on something sharp, causing her to howl and jump back, hopping around. She stooped to investigate. It was a cache of bones, and nearby, several long sharp teeth of an animal. The bones were those of small animals, perhaps hogs or the small deer that roamed the island, or antelope. The teeth, another matter altogether. She lifted one, laying it gently in her torn palm and studied it closely. It was an incisor, at least six inches long, curved and pointed. It could be from a saber tooth, she realized, a tiger that did not today exist on the island. The bones, then, were leftovers from dinners and snacks taken by the ancient beast, and then later the beast itself had expired here.

This was indeed an ancient place and had been home to animals for millennia.

She turned to make sure the vines were rearranged again at the entrance. She must make sure her safe place was not noticed by a hiker up the mountainside.

Now she went further into the darkness of the cave, for she heard the sound of water, and thought that was a very good thing. After some time she came to a bend in the cave wall and, trailing her hand along the damp cave, she rounded the corner, almost stepping into a hole that would have definitely taken her into the deep bowels of the mountain. She stood absolutely still, sucking in damp, cool air, thanking her stars. She could have ended it all here. Over the lip of the hole from the opposite direction, across from where she stood, came a small stream of water that slid smoothly into the opening where it dropped down into the darkness. She did not hear a splashing as she might if the water struck a surface or a pool so the hole was very deep.

She would have to find a way to get to that water across the way, she knew, to slack her thirst. At least it was there, an underground stream dropping off into the mountain hole and probably rushing away through some opening in the bottom of the mountain. To those on the jungle floor it appeared as a rushing stream.

She turned back and made her way into the cave proper, to have a look around. She would need to move some of the great piles of animal bones, get them out of her way. She would need some of the leaves from the giant vines at the entrance to fashion a comfortable bed. As for food, she would go out at night only, not much more than a predator herself, but one with preternatural powers, and hunt what she needed.

All the while she would keep an eye on the strangers and the ships, waiting patiently for indication of their departure.

She sat down on a hump of earth and tucked her knees to her chin. She breathed in deeply of the metallic scent of the mountain water deeper at the back of the cave, and sighed. A caul like soft mist fell over her face, draping it with damp.

She hoped it would not take long—the leaving of the ships. She had been living this horrible, primitive existence forever, it seemed to her, just forever and a day and she was more than done with it. She expected she was half-mad already. Her mind was an idle bit of matter sitting like a slug in her skull. It had not been stimulated. She had no scrolls to read, no writing materials, no historians or philosophers to teach her, no pomp and circumstance of politics, no passing pageantry to behold. And being a child, she could not even indulge the flesh with the animal pleasure of intercourse, which she missed as if it were a phantom appendage she longed for.

A slight rustle sounded loud to her ears and without hesitation to think what it might be she reached out swiftly with one hand and caught the wriggling, furry thing that had tried to skitter past her to the vine-covered exit.

She brought it to her face, squinting in the gloom. It wriggled ferociously and tried to take nips at her fingers. It was a rat, a rather large one, with a long whipping tail and beady little black eyes. It was in a thorough panic as it squirmed in her hard clutch.

“Hello, my friend,” she said, smiling. “It is kind of you to visit.” And then with her other hand she gripped the head of the little beast and wrenched it sideways until she heard a crunching sound of bones snapping. The rat stopped wriggling and lay limp in her hands.

Now she had something to eat. She would be sustained until nightfall.

CHAPTER 7

TAKING A NEW LAND

Christopher Columbus stood on deck and instructed his men in what they were to do upon landfall. His ship led the others forward through the swells, their sails now lowered, the land close enough they could go ashore in small boats.

“You can see them streaming down to the shore, excited about our arrival. Make friendly gestures and do not scowl at them. Remember that they have not seen a white man. Make no sudden movements and do not get too close to them. We’ve seen natives like this before and you should know what to do. We'll try to gain their confidence, trade with their leaders or elders or kings, and once entrenched we will make this great place ours in the name of the great Isabella, Queen of Spain!”

A roar rose from the clustered men. They were almost in rags, unshaven, dirty, and hungry as well, for fresh food. Their stores were low and this new land was a wonderful gift, a land of mountains and green forests, no matter that it was also a great adventure. There might be gold hidden there, treasure, what it was their captain wanted most and what they, too, wanted with every fiber of their beings. Even though they were forbidden to take gold for themselves, everyone filched a little along and hid it on the ships before sailing away. Also, as they could see, rushing down and into the small lapping waves along the sandy shore, there were women! The men had not had congress with a woman for months and were bursting with lust. Given half a chance, at this point in their journeys, they would poke a cow or a horse or any sort of four-legged beast, but a woman was certainly preferred.

“Take your time,” Columbus was instructing. “Say nothing while I hold palaver with the tribal leaders. Begin slowly to set up a camp inland, bring our cooking pots and spices, find something to cook, asking the natives politely. Now….” He paused, wiping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief scented with grated lime. The limes, almost gone now, only a few left, were shriveled and juiceless after all this time on board, but their skin still held some fragrance that revived his senses. He did not feel so well though it was a great victory to discover what he thought might be China, his real destination. He had made one mistake already, happening on the New World, but this could be the place he sought.

His stomach had become sensitive on him, growling, going sour, spewing shit that was so foul he gagged. He wondered if he’d outlast this trip unless he got stronger. “Now, let us lower our boats and strike land! In the name of the Queen! In the name of Spain!”

After the excited roar, the men set to work. Columbus staggered a bit before taking hold of the railing to steady his gait. He went into the first boat, as was his custom, and waited for it to fill with oar men and his personal guards, armed to the teeth with muskets and swords and knives at their belts. He himself did not carry a weapon, not needing one and in fact knowing he could approach people easier if unarmed. But on sighting the land, he had retired to his cabin, cursing his grumbling belly, and carefully dressed in full gear, with his silver, plumed helmet and his silver chest plate hammered to a dull shine, and his best leather boots that were now looking a little worn and creased.

He had evidence that dressed this way, in full regalia, he was looked upon by the primitives as a god come ashore, a mythical being stepping forth from the frothy edge of the sea like Poseidon rising from the waters. He was supremely confidant his stalwart men would overcome this place and dominate it within days. He hoped for gold, heaps of it, mountains of it, caskets of it. He hoped for treasure beyond all treasure to bring back to his queen, to his homeland. He hoped for an easy victory, low loss of his men, and a land that he could title to Spain that was worth titling.

He clutched his churning stomach and leaned forward and kept his hard gaze on the people awaiting his arrival on shore. This was so easy, he thought, it was almost ridiculous. They were so stupid they thought he was their friend, their new god, come to deliver them, to show them miracles.

They, at least in the beginning, the new people in these new worlds, loved him.

Everyone always loved him.

CHAPTER 8

THE TIME OF WAITING

It had been months and the Spaniards hadn’t made a move toward leaving the island. The great ships stood fast with lowered masts, rocking gently in the bay.

Angelique was dirty, her hair knotted with tangles her finger brushing could not undo, and she was mad as hell.

She had sneaked down the mountain a few times during those months, watching the interaction of the intruders and the natives. From hiding, even at a distance, she could see things were not going well. The people were sullen, hunchbacked with barely suppressed fury. The invaders wore cloth breeches and carried weapons, some of which Angelique had never seen before. She could not imagine what they did, these strange pieces made of both wood and iron, half as tall as the men who carried them. Later, on another foray down from the mountain, she discovered how the weapons were used and it astounded her. A fire came out the end of the long barrel, a small, acrid smoke wafted from it, and the man it had been pointed at fell dead instantly, a great hole in his chest, running blood. These people owned such a tremendous advantage with these weapons that she imagined they could have easily disseminated Caesar's troops in an afternoon. Astonishing!

The invaders were often bearded and they were all light skinned in stark contrast to the dark natives. It was day and night passing by one another, a strange parade of peoples. Glancing down at her arms she realized her own skin color was closer to that of the invaders than to the people. It’s just possible she might pass as one of them, if circumstances dictated. “I am one of you!” she could cry. “I was left here with these primitives when I was a baby. My skin is white like yours and only a little darker because of the sun, my lords.”

But that wouldn’t work, she knew, even if she convinced them of her skin color. The people would betray her and tell them she was their queen, their small, beloved queen, and then the strangers would kill her. Or take her captive, which would be worse. Yes, she could thwart the stupid natives when they tried to do away with her, but if standing right before one of these white men, holding the long weapon that spewed fire, she would be hard put to escape their clutches. Especially if one of them decided to dispatch her on the spot. She could move fast, sometimes faster than the human eye could detect, but she did not want to bet her life she could move fast enough to evade the death-dealing weapon.

She simply had to wait for them to get ready to leave.

She watched quietly, trying to find out what she could of the invaders. They looked cruel to her the way they swatted aside natives who might be in their path. Natives were knocked straight to the ground without the abuser taking any notice at all. The invaders were cruel in the way they yelled and scowled ferociously at the people, the way they grabbed things from the ones they had made servants, who were only trying to appease them.

She had seen invasions before, armies tramping into Rome, into Alexandria, and they were all the same. There was never remorse or compassion shown the subjugated. In the end most of the people who had been dominated ended up either dead or enslaved. Her long ago Egyptian queen, Cleopatra, had finally taken her own life rather than submit to domination. She knew too well what to expect of this present invasion. It is why she had had to flee. Why she remained hidden.

She both reviled and loved the invaders. Reviled, because they were destroying what had been her kingdom for two centuries. Loved, because they were her one chance to leave the island for the wider world. In the end she cared little for either group, invader or native. She cared for herself above all, something that most humans did not have the wherewithal to do.

Later in her spy missions to see what was happening, she discovered the invaders were building a modern city close to the sea. This excited her for she had not seen a proper building in hundreds of years. They mixed sand and clay and crushed shells from the sea, fashioning bricks that were fired in clay ovens. Already they had made a church, something she recognized. This kind of edifice made her draw back her lips from her teeth. She despised places of worship. The God who had thrown her into darkness wasn’t a being she would ever worship again.

The church had windows, with shutters that could be closed against high wind or rain. A great wooden door opened into what clearly was an antechamber leading into the church proper.

They used the natives as a work force, whipping them whenever they refused or did not work hard enough. She saw a man, dressed better than the others, who walked with his back so straight he seemed to be made of some substance other than mere flesh. He was their commander. She memorized his face, but knew she didn’t have to. He would always be dressed like a king and the ramrod way of comporting himself would always belong only to him. In his walk he said
I am your commander. I am in charge here.