By mid-afternoon, the landscape began to change. There were fewer trees and they were farther apart, allowing more light to reach the forest floor. Lush, verdant plants abounded, bushy yellow flowers with crimson petals. Colorful birds like hummingbirds, only the size of seagulls, flitted around the flowers, pausing overtop just long enough to draw nectar with their stiletto beaks. All of it would’ve seemed beautiful, I thought, if what’d happened hours ago hadn’t really happened, if it’d been a dream, or a nightmare, and not a reality. But no matter how hard I tried to see the beauty around me, it wouldn’t appear. It was as if my perceptions had been smeared by violence and death.
It didn’t take long before sweat was running down my face, stinging my eyes. The friction of my thighs against my mare had worked up a good lather. Glooscap was the only one of us who still rode erect, remaining vigilant of our surroundings. The rest of us rode like jellyfish that’d been concussed by dynamite, our limp faces and bodies conveying the horror we’d experienced, the loss of one companion, and the possible betrayal of another.
I rode up beside Glooscap. “We need to stop, just for a while.”
“We will arrive at Ambrose’s before nightfall,” he said, like he really didn’t want to stop.
“I know, you keep saying that. But look, I don’t think they’ll make it,” I said. “Unless we rest.”
He looked back at the others as if he was trying to gauge for himself whether or not we should rest. It was like he’d been so vigilant since the attack that he’d failed to notice how worn-out the rest of the group had become. That irked me greatly, and I had to bite my tongue. Just as I was about to remind him again that they didn’t have a whole lot of saddle time––let alone riding without one––he pulled his stallion to a stop.
“We will get off the horses here,” he said loud enough for the others to hear.
“Thank God,” said Anna. “My back feels like it’s broken.”
“Finally, we gonna take a break,” said Colby.
“No, no break, now we walk,” said Glooscap. “We need to reach Ambrose’s by night fall.”
“Man, you a regular slave driver,” said Colby, sucking his teeth for the first time in days. He lifted a bare foot. “And what am supposed to do ’bout my feet? I got no shoes because your boy robbed me.”
“He’s right to keep moving,” said Simon, scanning our surroundings. “Another night out here isn’t a good idea.”
Everybody needed a break. My body was aching, and even the thunder horses were dragging their hooves. But Simon was right: that spending another night out in the forest wasn’t smart. Our new circumstance called for shelter. Walking the horses wasn’t nearly as good as taking a break, but it was better than carrying on on horseback. Being on our feet would give everyone’s blood a chance to circulate through their legs again, help relieve tight and aching muscles, and reduce some back compression. One by one, we all came to a stop and dismounted. We all began walking on the trail in pairs, with our thunder horses beside us.
“This Dejunga, he the one that killed Brodan?” I said to Glooscap.
“Yes,” he said.
“You think the Wendo are hunting for us?” I whispered.
“We will reach Ambrose’s camp by nightfall if we do not stop,” he said. “And we will be safe when we arrive.”
“You’ve said that ten times. I get it. We need to keep moving––but why’d the Wendo attack us?”
“If we do not reach Ambrose’s camp by nightfall, we might never reach it,” he said. He said it in a way that made me believe him.
I grabbed his arm and said, “What did they want? Why’d they attack us? Horses? What was it?”
He jerked away from me, his big stallion neighed at his side. He was still hiding something from me, that much I was certain of. What it was, I didn’t know.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” I said louder than I’d intended.
Anna and Tabby took notice.
“Come on, tell us,” I said. “Go ahead, let’s hear it.”
“Yeah, tell us, man,” said Colby.
“The Wendo were once friends of the Sawnay, but they lost their way. Their hate grew until it claimed their spirits.”
“Hate for who?” said Anna.
“They were massacred by the white settlers’ army, starved and forced to leave their lands. Almost all of their people died. Elders, lifegivers, children, babies.”
“That’s horrible,” said Anna, hand to her mouth.
“Oh, that’s just great, man. Crazy-ass cannibals with a hard-on for Americans,” said Colby.
“This is getting worse and worse,” said Simon, sighing. “Now, he wants vengeance on us?”
“Why us?” I said.
“I do not know,” said Glooscap, and said no more. He turned and started walking away, and when I looked back everyone was staring at me, as if they were waiting for me to say more to him. But I didn’t. I let things go at that. Not the right time or place.
As we carried on, the dull throb in my groin began to subside. My body loosened up as blood flowed throughout my legs. By the way the others were limping and hobbling, I could tell they were saddle-sore, or bareback sore––however you wanted to put it.
Two hours later, we finally stopped, sat down to eat a snack on the trail. No one talked much. We ate quickly, then began north again. The forest gradually opened up even more, changing to a swampy landscape—the Black Swamp. The air became humid. Dark stagnant pools stretched like long tendrils in every direction. On the surface rested giant green lily pads that I thought could’ve supported the weight of a human. Mushroom-shaped gray trees dotted the landscape, thick bluish moss hanging from their branches. Everywhere, bushy green ferns abounded, their leaves wrapped in purple vines. Occasionally, there’d be a loud splash in one of the pools. But when I looked, I could never find the cause.
Come early afternoon, my hide clothing was totally soaked in sweat. That made walking uncomfortable, or maybe trudging would be a better word. The pools got bigger, broken once in a while with a ripple here and there, caused by what, I couldn’t say. And those pools became even bigger and farther-reaching the deeper we got into the swamp. A multi-colored dragonfly, the size of a remote control drone, landed on my mare’s head, my reflection in its eyes a thousand-fold. When my mare gave a shake, the dragonfly took flight, its wings thrumming, to chase after a swarm of small flying insects.
Soon it was nightfall. Fog began to rise from the ground to hover thickly in the air, and my companions became gray figures, vague and spectral. As we rode on, I began to get drowsy from monotony. My eyes kept shutting. I’d open them, shake my head to try to clear the cobwebs, unsure how long they’d been closed for. No one talked. The only sounds were swamp critters singing.
When a scream erupted from somewhere behind us, I twisted around. All I could see was a wall of fog. Glooscap spun his stallion three-sixty.
“Follow the trail,” he yelled, tossing his bundle to Colby, “and you will reach Ambrose’s.” Then he urged his stallion into a gallop, heading south toward the source of the scream, back the way we’d come. No sooner had he left than another scream tore through the swamp. I had no idea where he was going, but I wasn’t prepared to let him go alone. I tossed my bundle to Simon, then chased after Glooscap into the fog, toward whatever dangers awaited