Separation. James Axler
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pierced with a single diamond stud on the right side. Despite the darkness of her skin, she was finer boned than Mildred would have expected, with high cheekbones that came to a logical point in a chin that, on any other face, would have seemed pointed. She reminded Mildred of the Abyssinian women she had met when a child, exiled from Ethiopia in the early 1970s when Emperor Haile Selassie had died, leaving the country in the grip of a military junta and a continuing famine. Certainly she didn’t resemble the central and western Africans from whom the majority of African-Americans Mildred had ever known were descended.
And when she spoke, she had the gentlest, softest voice, like the tinkling of a brook over smooth, worn stones.
“So, you will feel better for that. Nature is like this. That which does not belong under the skin must eventually find a route from which to emerge, like the burrowing of mammals that need to come into the light to feed and live.”
Mildred tried to speak. At first a dry croak was all that emerged, but as she swallowed, she regained the power to articulate and express herself.
“Is that how you’d put it? I don’t think I would, frankly. How I’d put it is, Where am I? Who are you? Where are the rest of my people? And not necessarily in that order.”
The woman looking over her laughed, a mellifluous sound that echoed her speech. “You have the spirit of a fisherman in a storm. I think I would be more inclined to thank my benefactor and then rest before asking any more questions.”
Mildred raised herself up on an elbow, ignoring the sharp pains in her ribs and the insistent throb at the back of her skull as she rose.
“Lady, I am not you. And I’ve been in too many positions where the only reason I’ve been kept alive is for the benefit of those who are doing it—not for me—that I’m not inclined to give anyone the benefit of the doubt.”
As she spoke Mildred scanned the room. It seemed to be the living quarters of the woman who sat on the bed. It was sparsely furnished, but what there was bespoke of comparative riches. The furniture was well made, the hangings on the wall of silk and the finest dyed cottons, and on a table stood sculptures and ornaments, mostly of animals, that were made of what appeared to be gold and silver. This was no poor woman’s abode, but rather the home of someone with taste and jack to spare. It also seemed that she lived alone, as there were no signs of anyone else sharing. And there was no one actually in the room, no sec guard of any kind. As her benefactor appeared unarmed, she was either taking a risk and had somehow rescued Mildred alone, or she was of such a high rank that she could dictate her own terms. The presence of the precious metals made this the likely bet.
The finely boned woman watched Mildred with an amused expression on her face. Mildred was so preoccupied that it took her a moment to realize it.
“What?” Mildred asked sharply. She knew she should be triple-red, but she still felt shaky, and this woman gave no air of threat to which she could respond.
The woman’s full lips broke into a smile that showed strong teeth, stained by herbs and betel nuts.
“You are suspicious, and perhaps a little scared. This is no bad thing, and perhaps in your position I would feel the same. But, truly, you have nothing to fear. You are among your own people now, and need no longer talk of those who would wish to keep you alive for your own benefit. They have been dealt with.”
Mildred felt a lurch of panic deep in her guts. “Dealt with…What do you mean?”
The woman shrugged. “I mean what I say. Markos’s patrol found you before they were about to chill you as the wolf chills the rabbit. You had all been washed ashore, and they had carried you with them until such time as they were ready to do as their will. Fortunately, we were able to prevent your chilling and bring you back to the fold like the stray that seeks shelter.”
Mildred hoisted herself up into a sitting position, the pain in her ribs and the intensity of her headache drowned in the wave of panic and concern that threatened to engulf her.
“Let’s back up here for a minute, lady,” she began, trying to keep calm and to keep her voice level. “When I asked you about my friends, I meant the people I was traveling with. The last thing I remember was being in the raft and…Shit, some kind of big mutie fish turning the damn thing over. We were tied to the raft, but the rope must have broken.” She shook her head gently, as if to clear it, being careful not to aggravate her headache. “I don’t know anything about anyone trying to chill me when I was out, but the people I was with were friends, and whatever this Markos thinks he saw, they were trying to help me, okay? Anyway,” she added almost as an afterthought, “who is this guy Markos?”
A strange expression crossed the woman’s face. It was hard to work out exactly what was running through her mind at that point, but the question seemed to stir up a greater answer than she was prepared to give.
She contented herself with saying, “He is our chief of security and law. Answerable only to my father or myself. He was told of a sighting of boats at sea, falling prey to the sea devils and the turning of the tides. It was observed that the boats were washed ashore and that the ones with the shining skin carried a sister into the woods, with an albino in their wake—”
“That’ll be Jak,” Mildred affirmed.
“Another slave like yourself,” she said, continuing before Mildred had a chance to interject. “You were lost to view, and the darkness was falling. It is easy for our security to move after dark, for the beasts are quiet and they know the island well. Markos decided that they would look for you then. And so they found you, and overpowered your oppressors with ease, bringing you here to recover.”
“And where the hell are they?”
“They are safe.” The woman shrugged. “Markos has imprisoned them awaiting their trial.” She was silent for a moment, a thoughtful expression crossing her face, before she spoke again. “Strange that you should call them friends, as that is just what the albino said, choosing to be imprisoned with them.”
“Yeah, and I’ll tell you what, lady,” Mildred said coldly, ignoring the pain in her head, “you can lock me up there with them. Because they’re not my captors, you are.”
The woman looked genuinely perplexed at this. “I do not understand. We are your brothers and sisters. We do not seek to oppress you, only to bring you to us in the spirit of harmony.”
“Harmony be damned,” Mildred snapped. “I think there’s a few things we need to get straight. It’s like I said—the people I landed with are my friends. We’ve been through more shit than you’re ever likely to see on this island, isolated from anywhere. You say they were trying to kill me? How?” she demanded.
“Markos and the others saw the red-haired woman try to inject you with a needle as you lay unconscious,” the fine-boned woman replied, although in a tone that suggested she was confused and unsure when confronted with Mildred’s authoritative tone.
Mildred frowned, her mind racing. Krysty trying to inject her? Why would she do that? Her keen doctor’s brain, sharpened by the need to focus, raced through the possibilities.
“Where did the needle come from? Inside the jacket I was wearing?”
“You were wearing no jacket. Markos told me it came from a jacket that was full of pills, bandages and other needles.”
“I hope to hell that you haven’t done anything to that jacket or what was in it,” Mildred said in low voice. “I need those medical supplies.”
“You are a medicine woman?”
It was Mildred’s turn for an enigmatic expression to cross her face. “I guess you could say that. Yeah, I guess you could. I was the medicine woman for the group. I taught Krysty—the redhead—to give that injection in extreme circumstances. Guess they must have been worried, and I must’ve been out for a long time.”
“But how can that be? They treat you as an equal?”
Mildred furrowed her brow. “Yeah,