Quintspinner (50 page)

Tess, however, stood riveted at the stream’s side, feeling quite uncertain. She stood swaying slightly, her earlier wooziness having been replaced by a general deep fatigue. She sensed William’s nearness and knew he was standing close behind her. She’d noticed that sometime during the climb, he had stuck the pistols into the belt of rope that he wore around his waist. He was directly behind her now, his presence reassuring, his muscled body warm against hers. She flushed at his touch.

“Do you have the guns ready?” she whispered over her shoulder. The uncertainty of what they were walking into unnerved her.

There was a moment of silence before William answered.

“Wouldn’t do any good,” he replied.

“Why not?”

He lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug and a soft chuckle shook in his chest. “Uh, the pistols and shot survived the seawater … but the gunpowder didn’t.” He quickly added, “But only you and I have to know
that little
detail.”

Tess twirled around and searched his face. “But then–back when we were attacked–it was all
a ruse
?”

“Well, the pistols made a good enough impression though, didn’t they? That’s all that matters.” William gave a wry smile and nodded toward the waiting aperture. “Let’s not keep our hosts waiting.”

As she stepped into the cave’s opening, Tess’s finger began to itch under her ring and she felt the odd sensation of a soft yet invisible pull around her.

One of the other rings!

Surely that was the pull that she felt. Her pulse quickened and she stumbled on through the rough tunnel, heading toward a shaft of light that glowed up ahead. William kept pace behind her, his hand remaining in light contact at her waist.

Breaking out of the tunnel’s end, and stepping into the filtered sunlight, they stood still, amazed at the sight before them. A small collection of thatched huts, barely visible in the camouflage of the surroundings, were tucked back along the perimeter of an ill-defined clearing.

They had been brought to their captives’ secret encampment. They were standing at the edge of a village of the Maroons.

The sailors’ stories burst into Tess’s thoughts. Such places were rumored to be scattered throughout the islands, founded by groups of escaped slaves whose treatment by their white owners had been so vicious that they chose to face starvation and possibly death, rather than remain in captivity. Recaptured runaways were always branded and whipped; often the males were castrated and the women brutally raped. Once in awhile one would be dismembered, or hung, or burned alive as a warning to the other slaves. Tess shook her head as if to clear it of such nightmarish images. The village’s occupants had every reason to be hostile to any white people that they encountered. Their need for revenge was raw and primal.

The Maroons’ continued survival in these villages depended on complete secrecy of their whereabouts. Tess knew, now that they were here, they would not be allowed to leave alive. And the deep anger with which most of this scavenging party looked at them suggested that staying alive was not a likely option.

With fear building in her chest again, Tess began to twist her silver and gold gem studded bands, begging to be given some insight but all that she felt was the strange invisible pull. It was growing stronger.

As they were prodded down the tortuous path towards the clearing’s center, Tess lurched to a sudden stop, causing those behind her to collide in a chain reaction. She blinked in disbelief at what she saw before her. Stepping out of one of the huts, into the bright sunlit clearing, was a form so familiar that it took Tess’s breath away.

Cassie.

Tess stood shoulder to shoulder to Cassie in the doorway of one of the huts. Inside, William and Smith compared details of their escape from the ships, and their rescue, such as it was, by the scouting parties of the maroons. Neither one dwelled on the unknown fates of the missing ones–Mrs. Hanley, Mr. Lancaster, and Tommy–nor of the ones left behind–Captain Crowell from the
Bloodhorn,
and John Robert and Edward from the
Mary Jane.

The two young men spoke quietly, both of them realizing that their own fates were no better, that in less than a day, they had gone from being prisoners of the pirates to prisoners of this band of hostile runaways. William listened calmly to the details of Smith’s recall of his and Cassie’s ordeal.

“We both was sickened with our bellies heavin’ up sea water hard, an’ not too sure we was thankful to still be alive in that condition, ya’ understand,” Smith recalled, with a wry smile. “But alive we was, with me caught by my trouser rope in between them giant sandstones just out aways, an’ her tossed up on the shore.” His face clouded as he added, “There was no sign of young Tommy.”

“Anyways, soon enough there comes these Maroons an’ they haul poor Cassie to her feet, none too gently, with her still retchin’. Served them right that she puked all over them, she did.” He grinned at the memory. “Then the woman, the one called Mambo, gets all tense when she sees Cassie’s arm. Seems that she’d spent some time with that bloody Carlos herself, an’ wouldn’t ya’ know it, she’s got his brand on her arm too, and didn’t get it in an agreeable fashion neither. When she saw that on Cassie’s arm, I could hear her holler ‘Bloodhorn!’ all the way out in the waves where I was still tied down to them stones. An’ there was no mistakin’ the hate in her voice, lemme tell ya’.

“An’ then they waded out to me, where I was gettin’ a touch worried bein’ as the tide was risin’. They sliced me free an’ hauled me in an just as I was thinkin’ this might be a piece of luck, be buggered if they don’t force me to my knees an’ was goin’ to chop my head off, execution style, I kid you not!”

“Yet here you are. What happened?” William asked.

“The man with the machete saw his back,” Cassie interjected.

“Nah,” Smith countered.

“Yes, that was what saved you,” Cassie insisted. “He saw that mesh of scars all over you and decided that you had had just as many or maybe more whippings than him. And when he hesitated in his swing, I threw myself on top.”

“And that changed his mind?” William was skeptical.

“It was what she was yellin’, as she did so,” Smith explained. “There she was, plasterin’ herself all over me an’ screamin’, ‘He helped to kill Carlos! He helped!’ An’
that
was what made the difference,” he nodded and beamed at Cassie.

“You helped?” Tess was confused. She had seen Carlos die. “How?”

Smith grinned at her. “That’s exactly what Mambo asked, too.” He looked at Cassie, letting her deliver the answer.

“He brought me a candle.”

The branded woman who showed such fascination with Tess’s ring came to speak in private to Tess and Cassie. She was fluent enough in English and from her they learned that she and Cassie had shared abuse at the hands of the same despised man and that it was indeed the matching brand that ensured Cassie’s refuge here. The white sailor who had been found with Cassie, however, was another matter.

White people had to be eliminated, Mambo explained, especially any who knew of the village’s location. The continued freedom of the escaped slaves living there depended upon it and any details of the Maroons’ existence had to be kept concealed from their former white owners.

“If dey capture us, dey kill us and hang de bodies on tall posts all around till dey be rotted. All white people be silenced. We stay secret from dem.” She glanced at Cassie in an apologetic way, then reached out and palpated Cassie’s brand once again. She seemed lost in thought for a few moments before she looked up and regarded Cassie’s dark eyes with her own.

“Dis devil man. He is really dead?”

Tess and Cassie both nodded in confirmation. Their captor sighed and grasped their hands together in her own powerful grip. The silence was almost unbearable as she struggled with her decision. Then, with a lightning flick of her other hand, she slashed across their palms, splitting them open with a shard of stone. Holding their hands together, dripping with the welling blood, she commanded, “Look. Inside we are de same. All de same ….”

Her voice trailed away and a low hum vibrated in her throat. She cast a glance skyward and then continued. “Devil man dead. Den we be on de same side.” She squinted at Cassie and hissed, “Dat man wit’ you done a great favor.” Her eyes flickered between Cassie and Tess. “Maybe we let both your men live. For now.”

Four white captives. Her decision was a difficult one. She was a former member of the Ashanti of Western Africa, and now the group’s Mambo, a priestess who was skilled and knowledgeable in communing with the spirits. Astonishingly to her, Tess’s birthmark closely resembled Erzulie’s mark–Erzulie, the spirit of the powerful earth mother and one who was capable of prophesy, especially in dreams. Mambo decided that, initiated or not, Tess was clearly Erzulie’s choice, and therefore Tess’s safety was indisputable.

The young white man who had been with her at the shore was also unusual. It had not escaped Mambo’s notice that he bore webbing between his fingers.
Is this a sign that he belongs to the gods of the sea? The
villagers depended on the generosity of the sea’s deities to provide them with their much needed source of protein.
If he is harmed, will the gods be angered?
It was best not to risk it.

How is it that so many strange persons should be delivered into her care, Mambo wondered. She sighed.
The gods are complicated.

The spinning rings were another matter. The rings’ gems were phenomenal in their own right, but many pieces of beautiful and priceless jewelry abounded, brought back from exotic and far-away lands to this area. These islands were, after all, home to most of the world’s treasure-seeking pirates. Pieces were bought, traded, stolen, and flaunted on a regular basis.

But these rings were unlike any others. When Cassie returned the ruby spinner to Tess, Mambo noticed that the rings clung to each other. The spinning of the rings was a quality that no others possessed. Such items were sure to be coveted; they could bring unbelievable value in trade. The conversation with Mambo had nearly come to an end before Tess had an opportunity to explain that her grandmother and companion were missing.

“I have to search for them. Even if,” she swallowed hard, “even if they have washed up on shore”

“Not possible for you to go,” Mambo flatly stated.

It was not until Tess explained that her grandmother was in possession of a third ring, also a bejeweled spinner, that Mambo reversed her decision. She agreed to send out a small, unobtrusive search party to learn of their whereabouts if they still lived.

“Dat be easy if dey be dead, harder if dey live and are hidin’, harder still if dey already been found by others,” she cautioned. “Somet’ing must be sent along, in case payment for dem is needed,” she continued, eying Tess’s rings.

For a moment Tess was torn–the rings were just beautiful trinkets. Perhaps all the abilities that she thought she had been given by them were only imagination and coincidence. On the other hand, she had
felt
their power–had
seen
the results with her own eyes. She couldn’t part with them–and as she nervously twisted them on her fingers, she instantly knew that she
must not
part with them. Yet Mambo stood, insisting on a valuable item for her grandmother’s ransom. Tess closed her eyes and quieted her rising panic. Blanking out the fear, she realized what she must do.