Cloud Atlas, Page 31

  Fin’ly sleep dragged me off an’ I dreamed o’ the Kolekole girl, but her breasts’n’flank was made o’ snow’n’lava rock, an’ when I waked in that cart again I found a died slave under me was suckin’ all the warmness out o’ me. I shouted, Hey, Kona, you got a died un here an’ maybe your cart horse’d thank you to lose some draggin’ heavy. A boy on top o’ me yelped as the Kona driver whipflicked him to reward him for my oh-so-kindly consid’ration, he was the pisser maybe. I knowed by the birds’ lilts evenin’ was near, yay, an’ all day we’d been carted.

  A long beat later we stopped an’ off that cart I was hauled an’ pricked by a spiker. I yelled an’ wrigglied, heard a Kona say, This un’s still livin’ anyhow, an’ was lifted off’n’leaned ’gainst a hut-size rock, an’ after a beat my hood was taken off. I sat up an’ squinted in the mournsome dim. We was on the drizzly Waimea Track, an’ I cogged ’zactly where, yay, see it was by the slopin’ pond an’ that hut-size rock we was leaned against was the selfsame rock where Meronym’n’me’d meeted Old Yanagi jus’ a moon ago.

  Now I watched the Kona sling away three died slaves for the dingos’n’ravens, an’ I knowed why I’d cogged a fam’liar voice b’fore, see one of our capturers was Lyons the storyman bro o’ Leary. Storyman an’ spyer, may Old Georgie cuss his bones. There was no Valleysmen ’cept me in the s’vivin’ ten, nay, mostly Honomu’n’ Hawi I reck’ned. I prayed one o’ the slinged three wasn’t Kobbery my cuz. All of us was young men, yay, so they’d killed the older uns back in Honokaa, I s’posed, Meronym too, I reck’ned, ’cos I knowed she cudn’t s’vive nor ’scape such a furyin’ attack. One o’ the Kona poured a slug o’ pond water on our faces, we opened our mouths for ev’ry brackish drop but it weren’t ’nuff to damp our parchin’. The chief say-soed their horse boy to tent up an’ then spoke to his trembly catches. Since this mornin’, said the painted buggah, your lifes, yay, your bodies are Kona b’longin’s, an the sooner you accept this, the likelier you’ll s’vive as a slave o’ the true inheritors o’ Big I an’ one day Hole Ha-Why. Chief telled us our new lifes’d got new rules, but luck’ly the rules was easy learnin’. First rule is, slaves do your Kona masters’ say-so, quicksharp an’ no but-whyin’. Bust this rule an’ your master’ll bust you a bit, or a lot, d’pends on his will, till you learn better obeyin’. Second rule is, slaves don’t speak ’cept when your master asks ’em. Bust this rule an’ your master’ll slit your tongue an’ I will too. Third rule is, you don’t waste no time plottin’ scapes. When you’re sold next moon you’ll be branded on your cheeks with your master’s mark. You’ll never pass for pureblood Kona ’cos you ain’t, true-be-telled all Windwards are freakbirthed shits. Bust this rule an’ I vow it, when you’re catched your master’ll blade off your hands an’ feet, blade off your cock to gag your mouth, an’ leave you by the wayside for the flies’n’rats feastin’. Sounds like a quick death you may think, but I done it sev’ral times an’ s’prisin’ slowsome it is, b’lief me. Chief said all good masters kill a bad or idlin’ slave now’n’then to mem’ry the others what happens to slackers. Last, he asked if there was any complainers.

  No complainers there weren’t, nay. Us peacesome Windward men was busted in body by wounds’n’thirst’n’hunger an’ busted in spirit by the killin’ we’d seen an’ the slaved future we seen b’fore us. No fam’ly, no freeness, no nothin’ but work an’ pain’ an’ work an’ pain till we died, an’ where’d our souls be rebirthed then? I wondered if I may meet Adam or if he was died ’ready or what. An elfy Hawi boy started blubbin’ some, but he was jus’ a niner or a tenner so no un hissed him to shuttup, in fact he shedded tears for all of us, yay. Jonas’d be slaved most prob’ly, an’ Sussy’n’Catkin too, but they was grim thinkin’s, see, both was pretty ’nuff girls. Ma was an agin’ woman, tho’ … What use’d the Kona find for her? I din’t want to think ’bout the roller pin woman in Honokaa who’d whocked me into the ditch, but I cudn’t stop myself. Lyons came over, said Boo! to the elfy boy so he blubbed badder, an’ Lyons laughed, then yanked off my Prescient boots. He admired ’em on his own feet. No more scavvin’ up Mauna Kea for Zachry Goatboy, that judaser speaked, so he won’t be needin’ these no more, nay.

  I din’t say nothin’, but Lyons din’t like the way I din’t say nothin’ so he kicked my head’n’groin with my own boots. I weren’t sure but I reck’n he was second in charge after chief, leastways no un challenged him for my boots.

  Night dripped an’ the Kona roasted chicklin’s over the fire an’ any of us’d o’ bartered our souls for a drip o’ that chicklin’ grease on our tongues. We was gettin’ chill now, an’ tho’ the Kona din’t want us too busted b’fore the slave market, they wanted us kept puny’n’frail ’cos we was ten but they was only five. They opened a cask o’ liquor an’ drank an’ drank some more an’ tore them delish-smellin’ chicklin’s an’ drank some more. They murmed a bit an’ looked at us, then a Kona was sent over to us with a torchin’ stick. He held it by each of us while his tribesmen crowed Yay! or Nay! Fin’ly he unbinded the elfy Hawi’s feet an’ s’ported him hobblin’ over to the campfire. There they warmed him an’ fed him some chicklin’ an’ liquor. Us f’gotten slaves was bein’ drained by hunger’n’pain an’ the mozzies from the slopin’ pond now an’ we was envyin’ that Hawi boy diresome, till at a nod from Lyons they ripped down Elfy’s pants an’ held him an’ busted that boy’s ring, oilin’ his hole up with lardbird fat b’tween turns.

  Lyons was porkerin’ the sorrysome child when I heard a kssssss noise an’ he jus’ keeled over. The other four bust laughin’, see they b’lieved Lyons was bladdered with liquor but then ksss-ksss an’ two red spots grew b’tween another Kona’s eyes an’ he dropped stone dead too. A helmeted’n’caped Kona strided into the clearin’ holdin’ a sort o’ shinbone what he pointed at our last three catchers. Another kssss an’ the boy Kona was felled. Now the chief grabbed his spiker an’ hurled it at the helmeted killer, who dived’n’sort o’ rolled cross the clearin’ so the spiker tore his cloak but missed his body. A ksssSSSsss tore a slopin’ gash cross the chief’s torso an’ he sort o’ slid into two halfs. Hope creeped up on my shock but crack! The last Kona’s bullwhip wrapped round that lethal killin’ shinbone an’ crack! That shooter quicksharped out o’ the rescuer’s hands an’ into our catcher’s hands like a magicky. Now the last Kona swivvied the weapon at our rescuer an’ ’proached close so he cudn’t miss an’ I seen his hands squeeze its trigger an’ KSSSS! The last Kona’s head was missin’ an’ the breadfruit tree what’d stood b’hind him was a whooosh o’ cindery flamin’s cracklin’n’steamin’ in the rain.

  His body stood lonesome for a beat like a babbit learnin’ to walk, then … dumm-fff! See, he’d errored the shooter’s mouth for its ass and flashbanged his own head off. Our myst’ry Kona rescuer sat up, rubbin’ elbows tendersome, plucked off his helmet, an’ stared mis’rably at the five died uns.

  I’m too old for this, Meronym said, grim’n’frownin’.

  We unbinded the other slaves an’ let ’em have the Kona’s grinds, Meronym’d got ’nuff for us in her horse’s saddlebags an’ them unslaved buggahs needed all the help they could get. All we took from the died five was my boots back off Lyons’s foots. In war, Meronym teached me, first you anx ’bout your boots, only second you anx ’bout grinds’n’all. My rescuer gived me her full yarn a long beat later in this Old-Un ruin in trackless bush on the Leeward Kohalas what we found an’ lit a small fire.

  It ain’t long in the yarnin’, nay. Meronym weren’t in the Valleysmen’s store when the Kona attacked Honokaa, nay, she was up on the town walls sketchin’ the sea till a torchin’ crossbolt kicked that sketchbook out o’ her hands. She got back to the Valleysmen’s store b’fore the town gate was down, but Unc’ Bees shouted her I was missin’, so she went off lookin’ an’ that was the last she seen o’ my kin. Her horse’n’helmet she’d got from a Kona chief who’d charged down an alley an’ din’t charge out no more. In Kona gear an’ riotsome
annacky, Meronym bluffed a way out o’ the blood-shot’n’torchin’ town. There weren’t no battlin’, nay, it was jus’ more a roundup, see, the Senator’s army s’rendered faster’n anyun. Meronym first rided northly Valleywards, but Kona was gath’rin’ thick round Kuikuihaele for their swarm into the Valleys so she’d turned inland ’long the Waimea Track, but that road was thickly sentried an’ she cudn’t pass for Kona if stopped. Meronym turned southly reck’nin’ to reach Hilo an’ see if it was still in freesome hands. But Sonmi stayed her for long ’nuff to glance a cart trundlin’ by, an’ stickin’ out o’ that cart was two feet, an’ on those two feet was Prescient boots, an’ only one Windwardsman she knowed what weared Prescient boots. She daren’t try to rescue me in daylight, an’ one time she lost the cart ’cos she’d roundybouted a platoon o’ horses, an’ if it weren’t for the Kona’s bladdery chorusin’ as they gewgawed the Hawi boy she might’ve missed us in the dark an’ ridden by. Oh, the risk she’d taked to rescue me! Why din’t you hide an’ save your skin proper? asked I.

  She made a stoopit question face.

  Yay, but what’d we do? My thinkin’ was stormin’n’fearin’. The Valleys is raided’n’burnin, prob’ly … an’ if Hilo ain’t fallen yet, it’ll fall soon …

  My friend jus’ tended my wounds’n’hurtin’s with bandagin’s’n’ stuff, then raised a cup’n’med’sun stone to my lips. This’ll help fix your busted body, Zachry. Shut up your yibberin’ an’ sleep now.

  A murmin’ man woked me in a leaky Old-Un shelter with leafs bustin’ thru the window holes. I was achin’ in a dozen places but not painin’ so sharply. Mornin’ was brisk’n’leeward-smellin’, but I mem’ried the desp’rate new age what was shadowin’ Windward an’, oh, in my head I groaned to be wakin’. ’Cross the room Meronym was speakin’ thru her orison to that sternsome Prescient what’d catched me sivvyin’ thru Meronym’s gear that first time. I gazed on for a beat, marv’lin’ once more, see, colors are spicier’n’brighter in orison windows. Soon he seen me risin’ an’ cogged me with a raise o’ his head. Meronym turned too an’ howzitted.

  Better’n yesterday. I stepped over to see that spesh Smart. My joints’n’bones groaned some. Meronym said I’d ’ready met this Prescient what she said was named Duophysite, an’ I said I’d not f’gotten ’cos he’d been so scarysome. The windowed Prescient was list’nin’ to us, an’ his skel’tony face soft’ned jus’ one shade. Oh, I wish we wasn’t meetin’ in such dark times, Zachry, said Duophysite, but I’m askin’ you to guide Meronym on one last trek, to Ikat’s Finger. You know it?

  Yay, I knowed it, northly from the Last Valley over Pololu Bridge, a long spit o’ land what pointed nor’eastly. Was the Ship an-chorin’ for Meronym at Ikat’s Finger?

  The two Prescients bartered a glance, an’ Duophysite spoked after a beat. We got bad news of our own to teach you, sorrysome to say. The orisons on Prescience an’ the Ship ain’t answered no transmission for days’n’days.

  What’s a transmission? I asked.

  A message, said Meronym, a window, an orison gath’rin’ like we was discussin’ with Duophysite now.

  I asked, Are the orisons busted?

  Way worser it may be, speaked the windowed un, see in recent moons a plague’s neared Prescience Isle, westly from Ank’ridge, yay, a terrorsome sick what our Smart can’t cure. Jus’ one in two hundred what catch this plague s’vive it, yay. Us Prescients on Ha-Why we got to act like we’re on our own now ’cos the Ship prob’ly ain’t comin’.

  But what ’bout Anafi, Meronym’s son? Meronym’s face made me wish I’d bit my tongue off b’fore I’d asked.

  I got to live with not knowin’, said my friend, so bleaksome I could o’ blubbed. I ain’t the first un who lived so, an’ I ain’t the last neither.

  Well, that yibber busted a hope in me what I’d not cogged I’d got. I asked Duophysite how many Prescients was there on Hole Ha-Why.

  Five, answered the man.

  Five hun’erd? I asked.

  Duophysite seen my dismay an’ knowed it too. Nay jus’ five. One on each main I o’ the chain. Our hole true is simply telled, an’ it’s time now you knowed it. We anxed this plague’d reach Prescience an’ snuff out Civ’lize’s last bright light. We was searchin’ for good earth to plant more Civ’lize in Ha-Why, an’ we din’t want to scare you islandsmen by big numbers of offlanders.

  So you see, spoked Meronym now, your fears ’bout my true aims’n’all wasn’t total wrong.

  I din’t care ’bout that no more. I said, if Prescients was like Meronym, yay, five thousand of ’em’d o’ been welcomed in the Valleys.

  Duophysite darked, thinkin’ how few Prescients might be livin’ now. The boss o’ my tribe here on Maui where I’m speakin’ to you from is a friendsome leader same as your Abbess. He’s say-soed two war kayaks to cross the Maui Straits what’ll be at Ikat’s Finger come noon the day after ’morrow.

  I vowed him I’d get Meronym safe there by then.

  Then I can thank you for helpin’ her in person. Duophysite plussed there’d be space on them kayaks if I wanted to ’scape off Big I with her.

  That settled my mind. Thank you, I telled the stranded Prescient, but I got to stay an’ find my fam’ly.

  We stayed hid in that ruin one more night for my muscles to knit’n’my bruisin’ to heal. Heartbuggahin’ it was not rushin’ back to the Valleys for battlin’ or reccyin’, but Meronym seen the Kona horses’n’crossbowmen pourin’ t’ward the Valleys via Kuikuihaele an’ she ’ssured me, there’d not o’ been no dragged battlin’ for Nine Valleys yay it’d all o’ been over in hours not days, nay.

  Bleaksome’n’haunted day it was. Meronym teached me how to use that spesh shinboney shooter. We practiced on pineapples then giant burrs then acorns till my aim was sharp. I sentried while Meronym sleeped, then she sentried while I sleeped some more. Soon our fire was dirtyin’ twilight mist again an’ we dined on Kona rations o’ salt mutton’n’seaweed an’ lilikoi fruits what growed in that ruin. I filled the horse’s oat bag an’ petted him an’ named him Wolt ’cos he was ugly as my cuz, then gloomed hurtsome, wond’rin’ who o’ my kin was still livin’. True-be-telled, not knowin’ the worst is badder’n knowin’ it.

  A flutterby-thinkin’ touched me, an’ I asked Meronym why a Shipwoman rode horses as good as any Kona. She ’fessed most Prescients cudn’t ride no animal, but she’d lived with a tribe called the Swannekke what lived way past Ank’ridge an’ way past Far Couver. The Swannekke bred horses like Valleysmen bred goats, yay, an’ their littl’ uns could ride b’fore they could walk, an’ she’d learnt durin’ her seasons with them. Meronym teached me lots ’bout the tribes she’d lived ’mongst, but I ain’t got time for those yarns now, nay, it’s gettin’ late. We speaked ’bout the ’morrow’s route to Ikat’s Finger, see, one way was to follow the Kohalas’ razorback over Nine Valleys, but ’nother way was to follow Waipio River down to Abel’s Garrison first an’ spy what we’d spy. We din’t know see if the Kona’d slashed’n’burned then emptied the Valleys like they’d done the Mookini or if they was aimin’ to conquer’n’settle our dwellin’s an’ slave us in our own lands. Now I’d vowed to get Meronym to Ikat’s Finger safe’n’sound an’ reccyin’ ’bout Kona horsemen weren’t safe nor sound, but Meronym say-soed we’d spy the Valleys first an’ so the ’morrow’s way was settled.

  Dawn fogged waxy’n’silty. It weren’t easy gettin’ the horse over the Kohala Ridge’n’thickets to Waipio Spring, not knowin’ if a Kona platoon was waitin’ thru the walls o’ cane we was noisesomely hackin’. Mostly we’d to walk’n’lead the beast, but we reached the spring fin’ly by noon an’ tethered him in a hollow upgulch an’ creeped the mile to Abel’s ’long the spruce spur. Fog turned ev’ry tree stump into a huddled Kona sentry, but still I was thanksome to Sonmi for the camo. We spied over the peerin’ lip an’ looked down on the garrison. Grim viewin’, yay. Only Abel’s gates stood shut, see, the walls’n’outbuildin’s was all charred’n’busted
. A naked man was hanged off the gate bar, yay, by his ankles in the Kona way, maybe it were Abel an’ maybe it weren’t, but crows was ’ready minin’ his guts an’ a pair o’ ballsy dingos scavvin’ dropped slops.

  Now as we watched, a thirty–forty-head roundup o’ slaved Valleysmen was bein’ shunted out to Kuikuihaele. I’ll mem’ry that sight till my dyin’ day an’ longer. Some was mulin’ carts o’ loot’n’gear. Kona shouts’n’say-soes ruckused an’ whips crackled. The fog was too swampy for me to make out my tribesmen’s faces, but, oh, sorrysome was their figures dragglin’ out t’ward Sloosha’s Crossin’. Ghosts. Livin’ ghosts. Watch the fate o’ the last Civ’lized tribe o’ the Big I, thinked I, yay, the result of our school’ry’n’Icon’ry, jus’ slaved for Kona fields an’ dwellin’s an’ stables an’ beds an’ holes in Leeward ground.

  What could I do? Rush ’em? Some twenty Kona horsemen was convoyin’ ’em off the Leeward. Even with Meronym’s shooter I could maybe take out five o’ the twenty sentries, maybe more if I got lucky, but then what? The Kona’d spiker ev’ry Valleysman to death at the first whisp o’ knucklyin’. This weren’t Zachry the Cowardy knucklyin’ Zachry the Brave, nay, it was Zachry the Soosider knucklyin’ Zachry the S’viver, an’ I ain’t got no shame to say which Zachry vic’tried. To Meronym I signaled we was retreatin’ back to the horse tho’ tears was in my eyes.