I’d Rather Avoid Getting Sacrificed, Thanks.
Chapter 15 of The Ballad of Abigail Lambert
If you had told Abigail her skull had been cracked open like an egg when she woke up inside this dreary cave—she’d have every reason to believe you. She picked her pulsing head up to spy the rock walls that surrounded her. She was tied to a wooden post, this must’ve been an old mine of some kind. Hard to tell, for the moon outside the mouth of the cave was the only source of illumination. Esperanza sat with her hands tied behind her to another wooden post across from her. She could just barely make out a wooden table beside them with the silhouette of a hatchet stuck in the tabletop. Esperanza awoke to the same sight, and screamed. Abigail shushed her.
“Where are we?” Esperanza asked.
“Injun territory.”
They weren’t alone. They turned to the mouth of the cave, where they spotted someone silhouetted against the moonlight. They stared him down in silence with wide eyes as he approached, a dog beside him. It turned out to be Jules, who walked up to Esperanza and licked her face. Abigail looked up at the native man, draped in robes with paint on his face and feathers in his hair. He couldn’t have been much younger than Abigail, maybe only by a couple of years. He took a knee beside her.
“You got something you wanna say?” She spat at him. It was a long time before he responded.
“I come with an offer.”
“Do I really have much of a choice?” She asked.
“Stay here and suffer the whims of the tribe,” he said. “Or I help you escape.”
“You help me, for what?”
“We don’t have much time.” The native looked over his shoulder.
“Why should I trust you?” Abigail asked.
“I am the only one who can get you both out of here alive.”
“It was you bastards that brought us here. Now you’re just toying with me.”
“Stay here and you will die, that I can promise you. Unlike the white man, we do not break our side of treaties.”
“Stop being so difficult!” Esperanza said. “He’s trying to help us.”
Abigail couldn’t bring herself to trust a word out of his mouth but she wasn’t in a position that afforded her many options. Maybe she could distract him while Esperanza escaped with the dog, but she certainly wasn’t going to be able to do it with her hands tied here. Following him, against her better judgment, might be her only chance. She nodded, and he cut them free.
“Stay low and follow me,” he instructed. They followed him out of the cave to see a circle of teepees a few yards beyond the mouth of the cave. As they snuck by, Abigail could see the rest of the tribe gathered in the center of the camp, engaged in some kind of ritual marked by loud drums and chants from what seemed to be the Chief at the forefront, with a large headdress adorning his head. They approached one of the teepees from the back.
“Keep watch,” he said.
“What if they see us?” Esperanza asked.
“Then it’s already too late.” He ducked into the teepee. Abigail and Esperanza could only listen to the strange tones of the Chieftan as he delivered a speech in their native tongue.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Esperanza asked.
“How they’re going to season our livers, probably.” The native man emerged from the teepee once again, now sporting a satchel in each hand. He threw one at Abigail, and she caught it. She looked inside it, to find most of her belongings, most importantly her pistol.
“Come.” They followed him forward, toward the horses hitched nearby. Prizes won from intruders the tribe had killed, there were only enough for each of them to have their own mount to ride upon. As they passed between the teepees, they were spotted by two tribesmen who shouted in their native tongue, sending the entire camp into an uproar. The three of them sprang to their feet and ran to the horses, Esperanza quick to scoop up the dog and seat her atop the horse with her. The tribesmen tried to grab them as they circled the camp, but they were quick to get away having escaped with their lives—a rare feat for whites that crossed paths with the tribe. They rode for hours to put distance between them.
“This is as far as we go tonight.” He told them as he brought his horse to a stop.
“I ain’t sleeping next to no savage,” Abigail said.
“Sleep, lay awake. It means little to me. If I wanted you dead, I would have left you in that cave.” He dismounted and ran his hand down his horse’s mane.
“Do you have a name?” Esperanza asked him as she got down from the horse. Jules hopped down after her, Abigail the last to dismount.
“Yuma.” He laid down on the ground.
“You still haven’t said what you need us for.” Abigail told him.
“I will need both of your assistance in performing a ritual sacred to my people.”
“I’d rather avoid getting sacrificed, thanks.”
“There will be nothing like that. Once we have finished, we can go our separate ways.”
“Get a fire going,” Abigail told Esperanza.
“No fire,” he said. “Easy to spot.” Esperanza looked at Abigail, and she shook her head. “We ride out at dawn.” He turned over to sleep. Abigail and Esperanza sat in the dirt across from him.
“There’s something familiar about him,” Abigail whispered.
“What?” Esperanza asked.
“I can’t quite place it.” She replied. Esperanza leaned in closer.
“You don’t trust him at all?” she asked.
“Not for a second.”
“What choice do we have?”
“We wait until he falls asleep, then we sneak out of here,” Abigail said.
“I will not stop you,” he said. “But you are likely to be found by the tribe and end up back where you started. This is still their land.”
“That son of a bitch heard us?” Abigail said to Esperanza, still with a whisper.
“You keep saying theirs,” Esperanza said to him, “Like you’re not one of them. Are they not your tribe?”
“They used to be. What they are now, I can hardly recognize.”
They rode out in earnest the next morning. Abigail made sure to lag behind him, if only so she could keep an eye on him at all times.
“So where are we going?” Esperanza asked.
“We will ride first to the Holy Tree and collect its sap.”
“What’s the sap for?” Abigail asked.
“We will mix the sap into a sacred brew that will connect us to the greater realm,” he explained.
Abigail laughed.
“Greater realm?” Esperanza asked.
“The plane beyond our own. This form of flesh and bone is only but a single step in the journey of the soul.”
“Your English is pretty good for a savage,” Abigail said.
“And your English leaves much to be desired,” he replied.
“I feel the type of animals to take captive women for their sick pleasures fits the definition of a savage pretty well.”
“You all have raped our land far worse than they could any one body.”
“You’re disgusting,” Abigail told him.
“I doubt it changes much for you, but I refuse to participate in such behavior.” he said. “Amaru is driven more by such conquests.”
“Amaru?” Abigail asked.
“He is our tribe’s chief. He is also my uncle,” he explained. “He’s led the tribe since the white man forced us from our land. Amaru is trying to keep the tribe fed, but what he’s done—he has become possessed by an evil spirit.”
“What’s that got to do with your ritual?” Abigail asked.
“Once we have the sacred brew, we will continue our pilgrimage to the heart of Mount Reneda.” He pointed to a mountain peak off in the distance. “It is there that I hope to convene with my father.”
“Your father lives inside the mountain?” Esperanza asked.
“No. My father is no longer among us. Amaru assumed his position as chief of the tribe after he passed. He has forgotten that the Earth is our mother. He has abandoned our sacred ways for the arrogance of man. The elders have more than they could ever use, while the neediest among us are starving. The tribe refuses to believe what I can see with my own eyes. My hope is to ask my father for guidance.”
“Let me get this straight,” Abigail said, “your plan is to drink magic tree sap so you can talk to your dead father inside of a mountain?”
“You continue to prove my point about your grasp of English, but yes.”
“What a bunch of hokey Injun mysticism,” Abigail said.
“Not all of us are as dead of soul as you are,” he replied.
“If you go around believing trees let you talk to dead people, it’s no wonder all of you are dying out.”
“Abigail!” Esperanza shouted.
“Belief is unnecessary when I know what is possible,” he said.
“And how do you know?”
“I have witnessed this ritual before. The sacred brew draws a bridge between our plane and the greater one, if only for the briefest of periods.”
Abigail looked at Esperanza, unimpressed. They continued on their ride for a few hours until Yuma spotted something unsettling up ahead. As they drew closer, his eyes grew wide with concern and he slapped the reins on his horse.
“Hey, where you going?” Abigail said as she picked up the pace to keep up with him. Esperanza trailed close behind them.
As he approached, his fears were confirmed. A stretch of barbed wire fencing surrounded the thick woods. Nearby, a crudely hand painted sign read: TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT.
“This can’t be,” he whispered.
“I’m guessing this tree of yours is on the other side of this fence?” Abigail asked.
Yuma was too preoccupied with the notion of being walled off from his mother, the Earth, to entertain Abigail’s crude indignation. He began to ride along the perimeter of the fence in the hope of finding a better look at what was transpiring on the other side. Abigail and Esperanza watched as he rode away.
“What should we do?” Esperanza asked.
“Leave him,” she replied.
Esperanza rolled her eyes and rode off in his direction. Reluctantly, Abigail followed suit. The fencing must’ve covered some several acres of land within its borders, as it was quite some time they rode before they got a view of anything other than a dense thicket of trees. What they did finally encounter horrified Yuma beyond belief. A logging company had moved in and begun clearing out the forest. They’d cut down enough trees to set up a trio of cabins, but there were still at least a hundred other trees that’d been chopped down and assorted. It caused him so much pain to bear witness, you might as well have asked Yuma to stare into the noon sun.
“I’m hoping your tree isn’t one of the ones that were cut down?” Perhaps some optimism could be restored?
“It seems it has been fashioned into a cabin.” He pointed to one of the three in the center of the clearing.
“How do you know?” Esperanza asked.
“The darkness of the bark.” The cabin he pointed to had the darkest texture of the three. “It is the only tree in the whole wood with this quality and it has been ripped from its roots. Hope is lost.”
“What a tragedy,” Abigail said. It was clear to them both that her words betrayed how she genuinely felt. She would just be glad that this little detour was over and they could continue with their original plan. A spark of curiosity ignited within her, though, and she pulled out of her satchel a pair of binoculars to get a better look.
“What happens now?” Esperanza asked.
“To that, I have no answer.” He replied.
“I’m so sorry,” Esperanza said.
Abigail got a good look at the cabin in question, and noticed some movement by its front window. It wasn’t long after she spotted someone exit the cabin, someone she’d seen before: none other than her ex-husband Henry. She couldn’t help but laugh when she saw him.
“Do you have to be so callous?” Esperanza asked her.
“I’m not laughing at him,” she said, “I’m laughing at my rotten luck.”
Esperanza didn’t understand.
“If we can get you to that cabin,” Abigail asked him, “can you still extract the sap that you need?”
“It’s possible,” he said. “However, I doubt whoever owns that cabin will allow us to rip into its walls for what we need.”
“You leave that to me.” She handed the binoculars to Esperanza.
“You’ve got a plan?” Esperanza asked, unsure with what she saw that inspired such a sudden change of heart.
“We’re gonna make that cabin bleed.”
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