Slavemakers (15 page)

THE SUN ROSE
over the ocean, in an instant turning the eggshell blue sky a brilliant orange. The sudden vivid color caught the peaks of the gentle waves, more like ripples, that seemed to spread out toward the horizon, for a moment making them resemble lit candles.

She and Mama had used candles when they lived in the house in Naro Moru. Aisha Rose remembered it so clearly, that gentle flickering glow, so different from the garish electric lights she'd seen in the pictures.

The memory made her chest hurt.

She was wearing rags that could barely be called clothes anymore. She was filthy, smeared with mud and dried egg yolk and blood, her own and that of the animals whose meat she'd eaten along the way.

Filthy and stinking. The smell of rot. Rotting egg and rotting meat. And her, too.

Her fever hadn't returned—the sumeito salve had done that much—and the swelling had gone down.

But it hadn't gone away. It was just waiting, she knew that. Waiting for her to weaken, when it could once again run free.

She just hoped it would give her enough time.

*   *   *

IN THE MIDST
of these thoughts, her stomach made a sound, a sudden high-pitched whine like the cry of a distant cat, and—amazingly—she laughed.

No matter how filthy you were, no matter how sad your thoughts, your body didn't care. When it was hungry, it demanded food.

And this truth, the fact that she was hungry, that she still had a body that needed sustenance, lifted Aisha Rose's spirits.

She knew that once she ate, she would have enough strength to navigate the final stretch before she reached her destination, now only a couple of days away up the coast.

Knowing what awaited her there, and yet here she was, still hungry.

So . . . what should she eat?

She looked around. Hanging high in the blue sky were three huge, spindly winged black birds, as angular and still as if a child had painted them there. Aisha Rose had never seen them in a book, so Mama couldn't tell her their names.

Down along the beach, white crabs shifted through sand just a little darker, browner, and less substantial than they were. Seeing her watching, one of them ducked
into its burrow, the entrance a round hole in the sand that reminded Aisha Rose of one made by a
majizi
.

There were no
majizi
here. She knew where they were, where the stain grew and spread. But simply being reminded of them made her lose her appetite for the crabs, not that she would be quick enough to catch one anyway.

Stretching, she yawned, bending her neck back and noticing for the first time the big, round fruits with brown, shaggy outsides that hung perilously in the tree high above her.

No, not fruit. Nuts. Gigantic nuts.

Mama's voice: “Coconuts.”

Then Aisha Rose remembered. She'd seen pictures of beaches with trees like this, slender palm trees with trunks like an elephant's, burdened with coconuts.

Coconut meat and milk were delicious, Mama had said, looking a little sad and thoughtful. There'd been no coconut palms at Hell's Gate or Naro Moru, so Aisha Rose had never gotten to find out for herself. Until now.

If she could get hold of one, that was. Looking up at the coconuts clustered under the palm fronds waving in the breeze—and then moving a few steps away while imagining what it would feel like if one fell on her head—she knew she'd never be able to shinny up the slippery trunk to retrieve one for herself. Perhaps when she was at full strength, but not now.

The other option, searching for one that had fallen, was easier. It took just about five minutes of walking along the fringe of the beach before she found one lying at the base of a tree. Its shaggy outer coat had been half torn off, revealing the green, shiny nut within.

Which, as Aisha Rose discovered while sitting cross-legged with the coconut in her lap, proved to be completely unbreakable.

After just a few moments clutching it between her knees and trying to find a way to open it with her right hand, a hopeless task, she retrieved her knife. With this she succeeded in cutting away the rest of the outer layer, but the green nut remained completely resistant.

When the very tip of the knife caught in the husk and bent, Aisha Rose's heart thudded. The last thing she could afford to lose was her knife, as far as she knew the only one remaining from the dream.

Returning it to the sheath, she stared down at the coconut. She was so hungry, but there had to be a better way.

Or maybe not. Aisha Rose lifted the coconut off her lap, propping it between her right hand and left wrist, and made to throw it away. As she hoisted it higher, though, she heard it make a gurgling sound. The sound of the milk rushing around inside the shell.

Taunting her. Aisha Rose's resolve hardened. If this thing, this nut, was going to challenge her, then she'd take on the challenge. She had no choice. It was what she did, who she was.

Aisha Rose Atkinson: not so high on the totem pole, certainly, but able to survive because she never stopped trying.

*   *   *

HER NEXT ATTEMPT
involved a rock, a big, sharp-edged rock that—again, propping the coconut between her hand and undamaged wrist—she banged against it as hard as
she could. But her weakness and wounded palm made both her strength and accuracy less than they once would have been, and she found herself growling with frustration as the rock bounced off again and again.

Now you can give up,
part of her said.

But the rest, the bigger part, said no. Not yet.

So . . . what to try next? After a minute's thought, she had an idea.

Finding three more good-sized rocks, she arranged them beside the one she'd been using. Then, with all her strength, she hurled the coconut down on them . . . and stood there, stock-still, as the nut split into three pieces, two of them flying a few feet away and the third, the largest, settling amid the rocks.

Aisha Rose was lucky that the largest piece made up almost half of the nut, and that it had come to rest right-side up. Otherwise all, and not just some, of the precious gurgling liquid would have drained into the sand.

She squatted and grabbed the half before it, too, could tip over. Raising it to her mouth, she drank deeply of the milk, letting some of it run down her chin.

It was . . . a little sour. Kind of thin. To be honest, it wasn't entirely to Aisha Rose's taste. Nor was the meat.

But the feeling of triumph? Her victory over the coconut? That tasted sweet.

*   *   *

NOW THAT SHE
was no longer ravenous, she knew it was time to start the next, the last, leg of her hejira.

Only . . . she still wasn't ready. Not quite. There was still one thing left for her to accomplish.

The time was drawing close when she'd need
him
, the one who frightened her so badly. But ever since that moment in Nairobi, when he'd almost swept her away, he'd removed himself from her. Turned away.

She'd reached out, but though she thought—guessed—that he knew she was there, was trying, he'd given no sign of acknowledging her, much less responded.

All through her trek across the savanna, she'd wondered how she was going to solve this and despaired at finding a solution.

But now she felt more hopeful. Oddly enough, it had been the coconut that gave her an idea . . . or, rather, her approach to the problem of opening the coconut.

She'd learned that sometimes it was better to stop being clever and to approach a challenge head-on. Sometimes you just had to bash it against a rock.

*   *   *

SHE'D NEVER SEEN
the ocean except in pictures, much less swum in it. Mama had made sure she learned to swim in the big lake near Hell's Gate, but she knew this must be so different. Like something visiting from the dreamed earth.

Her heart pounding—from being in such an unfamiliar environment or from the decision she'd just made, or both—she headed down the beach. When a warm gentle wave covered her feet and then, retreating, pulled her gently toward the depths, despite her fears, she laughed out loud.

She'd seen pictures of coral reefs, and could see where this real one almost broke the surface of the water. Beyond
the reef, the water was a darker, deeper blue, and the waves, stronger out there, sent spray up over the coral, where it caught the sun and glittered like a rainbow.

Aisha Rose drew a breath deep into her lungs, then coughed. The salt air was harsh, but she thought she could get used to it. She thought she could live here and be happy.

Or could have, in another life. In another dream.

She stood still for ten seconds more, then stripped off her rags, stepped forward until she was waist deep, and dove in.

Swimming a few strokes underwater with her eyes closed, she gloried in the warmth of the water against her skin. At first, her damaged hand stung and ached from the salt, but soon it grew numb. And the salt water, while making her eyes itch, also buoyed her, making even the hand with its awkward bindings seem lighter.

Aisha Rose felt . . . free. Rising to the surface, she took a breath and dove down toward the sandy bottom. A tiny blue-and-yellow fish stared at her, then burrowed out of sight, sending up a tiny white plume. Nearby, bleached shells shifted back and forth in the gentle surge from the waves rolling past above her head.

With a strong kick, she sent herself up for another lungful, then swam smoothly through the water toward the reef ahead. It was amazing to see, for once, something that was even more beautiful than the pictures had shown. Round corals like small cities, others with branches like a giant antelope's horns, still others soft, fans waving in the current that caressed her face.

And everywhere, fish. So many fish that she didn't know
where to look first. Big green-and-red ones that bit at the coral with sharp beaks—she could hear the scraping sound even through the water. Smaller bright yellow ones that were almost triangular in shape, with long, pointy noses like a shrew's, and others, striped yellow and blue, whose streaming fins reminded Aisha Rose of flags or clouds.

She had no idea what any of the fish were called, only that they put the colorful birds that had lived around Naro Moru and Hell's Gate to shame.

The ocean over the reef made its own sound, a roaring in her ears, but she had no idea what was creating the squeaks and moans and other noises. After spending her whole life thus far in a world where she knew every sound, what made it, and what it meant, this unfamiliarity thrilled her.

Coming to the surface again, she noticed that she had traveled farther from shore than she'd thought. She felt a spark of panic—she'd never been so far from solid ground—but it was soon extinguished. If getting back to shore were the biggest challenge she faced on the rest of her journey, she would be one lucky girl.

She spun in place. The sun, nearly directly overhead now, had turned the water around her into a sheet of silver. Perhaps ten strokes away, though, a gap between two stands of coral revealed the darker water she'd noticed from shore—a deeper, half-alluring, half-threatening shade of blue—and choppier surf stretching out toward the horizon.

Without giving herself time to reconsider, Aisha Rose swam out through the gap in the reef, and into the open water. Here she was tested, as the surf surging against
the reef wall set up confusing currents, at one moment shoving her out toward the open ocean and at other times threatening to slam her against the sharp coral.

She swam toward the spot where the water changed color. Here the sunlight turned the swirling sand and fragments of shells below into white embers. Away from the protection of the reef, the fish here were larger and less gaudy. Silvery, bullet-shaped, heavy-jawed, with teeth as white and gleaming as jewels.

Here the sandy bottom below looked as far away as the valley floor from the rose farm. A shift in the current brought a sudden surge of colder water that at first, as if shy, merely brushed against her body, and then, as if more confident, enveloped her.

So suddenly that it shocked her, she found that she was floating high above the wall of a canyon. Festooned at its lip with waving purple and green fans, it descended almost vertically, growing dimmer and dimmer until the deepening blue water turned to black.

A black so vast and empty that Aisha Rose hung there, holding her breath until her lungs ached, just staring downward. Much colder water, rising from the canyon, engulfed her, and she shivered.

Illuminated by the last glimmerings of the sunlight—so brilliant above, so feeble below—something moved just within the range of her vision. Something huge and grayish white. A whale? A monster?

Maybe something ancient, from her book on long-extinct creatures, yet not extinct. Not extinct, just waiting for the world and the seas to become empty again, so it could reemerge.

Her book on ancient creatures had described such deep-sea monsters but had claimed they were all extinct. But looking down into the blackness below, Aisha Rose wondered how—even on the dreamed earth—people could have been so sure of themselves.

Had they really
known
what was extinct and what wasn't? Or had they merely been trying to make themselves feel better, more in control of an earth that, in the end, they had no control over at all?

Unexpectedly, on this day of surprises, Aisha Rose felt her body fill with a warmth that banished her goose bumps and chased away the chill. She lifted her head out into the sun for a breath, her body seeming to unfold at the long intake of air.

Finally, she understood something. Something important, even crucial:

The world was enormous, far bigger than she'd ever known from her own life or even from the pictures. And her place in it was tiny. Tinier than tiny. Mama's word:
infinitesimal
.

And if Aisha Rose's world was tiny, then so was theirs. The
majizis'
world, and with it the reach of their power. Even tinier than hers.