Raging Star

The Snake River folk on the farms ain’t bin discovered.

He’s made plans for our marriage. Preparations. Extraordinary. Magnificent.

I look to the fire. My leather bag lies in the ashes. I pick it out. It’s singed an blackened. But the scrolls inside ain’t bin burnt.

I eat the eggs. Some cornbread. A sliced breast of duck. I drink some wine.

I set Nero free in the night. Then I go to bed. An I sleep.

I wake to find Mercy movin about. Fillin a tin bath with hot water. She drops in oil of thyme. When I’m scrubbed, she washes my hair with soapwort. As she’s tippin rinse water over my head, DeMalo comes into the room.

There’s a Tonton jest inside the door. No doubt to make sure me an Mercy don’t plot. But we’re behind a low screen to be private.

DeMalo comes around it. Without a nod or a look to me or a by yer leave, he says to Mercy, I want her blooming by tomorrow. Rosy cheeks. Bright eyes. Do you understand?

She nods. A decoction of archangel, she says. Cures melancholy. That’s what she needs. I’ll hafta gather some.

Find it, he says. Do you know where to go?

I believe so, she says.

My men will take you there now.

I wanna see where you buried them, I says.

He looks at me.

Please, I says.

After tomorrow, he says. That’s soon enough. That reminds me. DeMalo reaches in his pocket an pulls somethin out. He was wearing this around his neck, he says.

He tosses an I catch it. Lugh’s necklace. The little ring of green glass, threaded on a leather string. I gave it to him fer our last birthday. Eighteen year, it was.

I’ll spend tonight elsewhere, says DeMalo. I won’t see you now until we wed.

He leaves. Mercy an me look at each other. I git outta the tub an, as she dries me with a sack, I says to the Tonton, Empty the water, would you please? When he hesitates, I says, You heard the Master. She needs to go right away.

I stand aside, wrapped in the sack. He hurries over, not lookin at me. He seizes the tub, takes it off to empty it. I go to my bed. Pull my leather bag from unner the straw pallet an dump out the scrolls inside. As I start to sort through ’em, I whisper to Mercy, There’s a safe message drop near the watermill. On the Don River, where we met that day. D’you know the one I mean?

I do, she says. I’ll find some archangel thereabouts. It grows most places. It’s our luck he don’t seem to know that.

I’ve found the scroll I want. I press it into her hand.

Could be they don’t find this in time, I says. We don’t even know if they’re still usin the drops. Or they might find it an … ignore it, I dunno. I don’t really know what I’m doin, I jest have this idea. I could be wrong, but—

I’ll see to it. Don’t worry. As she tucks the scroll in her bosom, she says, I’m glad to hear yer voice agin. I was startin to think you’d lost it.

Please be careful, I says.

I ain’t got this far bein careless, she says.

With a smile an a nod to reassure me, she slips out the door. She’ll be gone fer some while.

The house is quiet. Nobody comes, nobody goes. I stare out the window. I sit an I think.

I hold Lugh’s necklace in one hand. I hold the heartstone in the other.

I cain’t let myself feel. Not yet. So I do what I did in my Hopetown cell at night. When the dreams woke me. When the fears took hold. I imagine the world all around me is dark. I go deep inside my self. Shrinking my self down to one point of light. Where I’m safe. Where I’m strong.

I’m one point of light an I ask,

Who am I?

What do I believe?

Never lose sight of what I believe in. Never, no matter what happens.

What one person does affects all of us.

We’re all bound together. We’re all threads in a single garment of destiny.

I make my destiny myself.

By the choices I make.

Mercy won’t be back. That’s all they’ll tell me. She must of bin caught tryin to leave the message in the drop box. I dunno if she’s alive or dead.

But somebody, maybe her, picked the archangel. It was brewed an brought to me in wine. I don’t touch it.

Tomorrow, I marry DeMalo.

A strange slave woman wakes me in the grey time. As the night turns towards dawn. She’s bin sent to dress me to be wed. As she lights every lantern in the room, I see the gown that’s bin laid at the foot of my bed. It was put there while I slept.

It’s strange. Wonderful. Extraordinary, like he said. A queenly gown. Long to the floor. Tight sleeves to the wrist. Laced up the back. The colour of rich wine. Made of heavy soft cloth. It’s old. Wrecker old. It’s bin garlanded with fresh flowers, with real leaves. With feathers an polished stones. There’s a circle of twisted gold fer my head. No boots. That means he wants bare feet.

Nero taps on the window. I let him in. I wash my face an hands. The woman combs my hair. She’s shy. Won’t meet my eyes. Her name, she tells me, is Fan.

In silence, she laces me in. The gown fits me perfect. Of course. He’s seen to it. Fan’s brought rose petals in oil. She rubs ’em into my cheeks an lips. I must have bloom. The flush of joy. That’s what he wants. Today, appearance is all.

In New Eden appearance is all. The lie dressed as truth. Slavery dressed as freedom. Me dressed as DeMalo’s bride.

The same someone who brought the gown left a tall lookin glass aginst the wall. When I’m ready, Nero comes to perch on my shoulder. We stare at the stranger who stares back at us. In the lanternglow light, the circle gleams gold on her black hair. Her eyes glitter huge an dark. The gown fits her like a skin. The neck’s low at her bosom. The skirt trails behind her with a hush. The stones catch the light. The feathers gleam.

Beautiful, says Fan. Like a forest spirit.

Nero starts to caw. He scolds, heckles me, bobs up an down. He’s right. She ain’t me, this stranger. I ain’t her. She ain’t real. She’s some idea of DeMalo’s that fits into his grand plan, his great story. With him, the powerful, wise father of New Eden. An her, the earth mother. An the Angel of Death is dead at last. Killed by him. Like her sister an her brother.

Dead I may be at the end of this day. But I ain’t dead yet.

I ditch the gold circle. Haul on my boots. I strap on my armour over the dress. The metal plate jerkin an armbands. It puts poor Fan in a twitch.

If there’s blame, I’ll take it, I says.

She dithers about me, the heartstone in hand, anxious to hang it around my neck.

Not that one, I says. The green glass.

I wear the necklace I gave to Lugh.

Then we go outside. Nero takes to the air. It’s cool an clear an windy. Three shades short of dawn. I find a guard of eight Tonton lined up to escort me. Hermes waits in the middle. He looks splendid. He’s bin groomed like never before in his life. He shines an gleams from ears to hoofs. He tosses his head when he sees me.

I pause. My gown’s tight. I’ll hafta ride sidewise. DeMalo’s thought of this too. A Tonton comes towards me to lift me onto horseback. I reach down an grab the hem. The old cloth tears easy. I rip it to my thighs. Then I swing myself onto Hermes.

Nero flies above me as we move down the track. Then Tracker appears in the fields alongside. The Tonton horses shy, the Tonton go fer their guns.

He’s with me, I says. He won’t harm none. I whistle fer him to come an he runs beside Hermes.