MULATTO (Iyila) (Editing)

chapter eleven ~ Dedicated to all that patiently waited for this chapter

LUCK OR GOD

"Show yourself!" the man repeatedly commanded in an angry tone, though a tiny bit of fear in his gruff voice betrayed him. He slowly staggered in their direction; but neither Iyila nor Delia was willing to come out. Iyila slowly turned to her companion. She could barely make out her figure since the forest seemed to be quickly merging within the growing darkness. And Iyila knew that communication with Dalia was impossible, for now, she resolved to remain calm until Dalia did otherwise.

Unfortunately, calmness was, at that point, too much of a luxury because as the dry leaves covering the ground crunched beneath the guard's footsteps they both knew that death might as well be a few paces away. Iyila couldn't stop fidgeting and it took all her self control not to turn on the spot and sprint away in the opposite direction, towards the forest. She knew wild beasts awaited them there but, that way, at least death would be quicker.

"I know you are hiding behind that tree, so if I were you, I would simply move out and beg for your life because you cannot hope to leave this plantation alive," the man threatened.

Iyila froze as these words left the man's mouth. What therefore could they do? The only three options were: come out and beg, run away, or kill him, but none seemed too tempting.

Although by the tone of his voice and his movement, it was easy to deduce that he was drunk and conceivably drowsy. However, Iyila could not tell his strength. She had learned the hard way that men were always stronger, regardless of their state. Worst of all, what if it was that Zachary man? She could not tell if Delia was as strong as her, if she decided to take the bull by the horns. She didn't want a situation where Dalia might hesitate or scurry away.

Blinking away her tears, she swallowed a lump that had long formed in her throat and closed her eyes. "It is all a dream, a terrible nightmare caused by hunger..." Iyila repeatedly told herself. But his heavy treading dragged her out of her illusion with every step he took, reminding her of a near danger, or a realistic riskless escape plan. That moment, her past memories flashed before her mind's eye. It had all been awful, no pleasant moments to recall, nothing but pain - both verbal and physical - from her mother as a child to the whips of the masters when she picked her first cotton. Surely, there was no use living, she thought.

"I will give you one last chance laddie, come out and I shall spare you, I give you my word!" they heard him say, and through the silence they knew he had halted.

"Don't believe him!" Iyila frantically whispered, craning her neck to see if Dalia was making any move to show herself. She was flooded with anxiety; she wished she knew what was going on in Dalia's head, whether or not she believed the man. She had known the whites long enough and so far none of them had been anything like what she had read in the books that she had stolen from her previous master's library. None of them were what you could have referred to as a "gentleman", except of course to those of the same colour as them.

Iyila bit the upper part of her lip, her back was pressed against the oak tree and her head busied itself with worry.

Think Iyila... think. And then as if whispered to her by an unseen person a plan struck her head like an unexpected lash. Distraction.

She smiled and in excitement almost let out a cry. She bit her lip as she mentally organised the plan. Her plan was simple but tactical. She had decided to make a run for it. The man, hopefully would run after her, hence she could manage to divert his attention from Dalia who would have just enough time to safely return to their quarters without much notice and she could somehow find her way back as long as he didn't see her face. Even if she was caught, there would be no reason for the man to think that there were two of them involved. And although she had a frail knowledge of the woods and the fear of getting lost was inevitable but try as he might, he couldn't run fast enough - not in his heavy drunken state. Even if he tried, she was confident that he was a poor match for her skills as of now. If there was one thing for which she owed thanks to the creator, it was certainly her legs.