The New World

Chapter Nine

The tall native whistled through his lips. Then two young boys joined us on the platform. They carried a structure that had two pillars standing tall on a board. They placed it on the platform.The two kids grabbed my bloody wrists and dragged me to the structure. They placed each wrist on a pillar and tied them onto it. I gasped as the rope widened the wounds.

The children left and the tall native came to me. He took his knife and moved a strand of hair out of my eyes. My breathing stuttered as his knife caressed my jaw. I blinked back tears when he spoke softly, "Do you know why you are here?"

I shook my head slightly not to cut myself on the stone blade. "Let me tell you," he began, "Your father has destroyed our land. We obviously couldn't have taken him... You understand. We needed to give him something a little-- persuasive."

"I didn't do anything wrong!" I cried out.

"Actually, you did. But we are not focusing on that."

More tears formed, "What? What did I do?!"

"You tried to shoot three of our men. You will get punished for that later. But like I said, we will not be focusing on that right now."

"I didn't! I swear!"

He pressed the blade to my lips. He began to trace my lips with tip of the blade lightly. He slowly moved to my cheek and stopped. My breath caught in my throat. Without warning, he flicked his wrist, cutting my flesh. First it burned and slowly began to sting. I held in my tears.

"Here are the rules," he began, "Everyday for a week your father doesn't answer us or... give us the right one... you will be punished. At the end of the week, we cannot promise anything."

Tears slipped down my cheeks, making my cut burn.

"And we have not heard anything from your father today," he grinned.

He grabbed my left hand and pressed the blade to my palm. I yelled in pain as he carved into my hand. The crowd cheered for the native that drew on my hand with a knife. He went slow and use great precision. All the natives jumped and threw their arms in the air.

But in the back was one man who stood still and just watched. He did not yell nor move. Finally the tall native finished his art work. Blood dripped down my arm and the smell of blood made my head swim.

"Take her away!" yelled the tall native.

The man who escorted me came onto the platform and untied my bloody wrists. My sticky feet were heavy as I was led back into the Longhouse. The young Indian opened the cloth door for me and left me to myself.

I sat on the fur bed, trying to keep it clean from blood. Tears continued to flood my eyes. I looked at my aching hand. My art was covered in blood. I could not see what it was. The cloth door opened again and the young Indian came in. He carried a wooden bowl full of water and cloth.

"Clean up," he said, dryly, "You don't want them to get infected."

I didn't thank him and he left me alone once again. I grabbed a cloth and soaked it in water. I wiped away the blood from my hand. On my palm was a pentagram. Many would have tried to cut their hand off. But I didn't care.

I wrapped my palm with a dry cloth and cleaned my other wounds. 

~~~~~

The sunlight had stop coming through the cloth door and was replaced by a warm fire hue. My stomached growled. I hadn't eaten in two days. My wounds hurt more then ever. I lay on the fur bed and let my mind go blank. The young native lit a candle for me. It flickered scary shadows on the walls.

The natives sang songs and ate roasted meat and cooked vegetables. I couldn't sleep. I was scared that someone would come in during the night while I slept and hurt me. What was most depressing was that I knew Harold wasn't going to pay the ransom. Money meant more to him than me.

I was going to suffer seven days of torture. Not knowing what was going to happen to me after a week scared me the most. It made my stomach upset. I didn't have anymore tears to shed. I was empty. Drained.

Someone opened the curtain door, light and song draining in. It was a new face. It was a young native girl. Her long black hair was separated into two braids. The candle made her hair shine. Her eyes weren't a dark brown like others I have seen. Her eyes were a warm maple with caramel highlights.

Her skin was glowing, not as dark, not as red as the others. She wore a doeskin dress with turquoise beads at the neckline. The candle light danced across her heart shaped face and almond eyes. She was beautiful.

She closed the cloth door quickly behind her. She carried a skin bag. She danced to me and got on her knees. I sat up and watched her carefully. She untied her bag. The smell of roasted meat and bread wafted to my nose. My mouth began to water.

She grabbed my hands and cupped them, her touch was soft and warm. She placed a leg and a wing of a quail, cooked with spices and a slice of bread. The food was still warm. She retied her bag and jumped to her feet. Her walked to the cloth door and before she opened it, I dared myself to speak, "Who are you?"

The young girl did not look at me but her voice were like chimes in the window, "Sonakshi," and she left.

~~~~~

A pillow smacked me in the face. I woke, startled. I rubbed my eyes. I hissed at my hand. I had forgotten about it. I ran my good hand through my tangled hair. I didn't mean to fall asleep. I don't know how long I was out which frustrated me.

"You're father hasn't given us an answer," the native quipped.

I growled, "I figured."

He looked at me with no emotion, "Come on. Paresh is waiting for you."

"Is he the one that did this to my hand?" I questioned.

He nodded. I stood up and walked out of the room. Only a few elders and children were in the Longhouse. I could hear the crowd chanting.  They were waiting for me.