6The hallway was long, with nothing but closed doors on either side. Black Soil counted four closed door on each side. The room he had just come from was at the very end, with another closed door across from his. He went to it and tried to open it, but it was locked. The next door he tried was also locked, but the one across from it opened. He stepped in and closed the door behind himself. This room was the brother of his, the window looking out at the same scene, just a slightly different angle. Otherwise, it was empty. There were no pallets or any other objects, no signs that anyone had been in it before. He went back to the door, and paused as he had done back in his own room, his head against the wood, listening. Again, he went back out into the hallway.
He explored this way, trying doors, entering rooms where the doors yielded. One of the rooms was empty, one had a single chair, one had a pallet. Each time he returned to the hallway, he paused and listened. He was halfway down the hall, in a room on the opposite side of his, when he heard voices approaching. It was the same grunting language, but one of the voices sounded like the man who had brought them food. They paused outside his door, and Black Soil braced himself for battle. There was the same sound of metal turning in wood that he had heard back on the ship, and then the creak of a door on its hinges. The sound of a door closing, and muffled voices. Black Soil realized they were in the room across from this one. He eased the door open, and stepped across the hall, putting his ear to the door.
More of the strange language, but it sounded like they were angry. The voices rose, and suddenly there was the scrape of a wooden chair leg on the floor. Black Soil retreated back to the room he had just come out of and eased the door closed before the other one snapped open. More angry sounds, and this time the slamming of the door. He waited, but did not hear the sound of the turning metal in wood. He cracked his door and looked out. No one was in front of the door. He opened it further, and stuck his head out into the hallway, looking to the right back to the door to his room. Empty. Looking left, he saw a short figure walking quickly down the hall, his head bent. Black Soil stepped back into the room and eased the door completely shut. What should he do? He needed to talk to the man who had brought them food and find out how he had learned his tribe’s language. The other man might come back, and how would he get this man alone again? This was his chance. He took a deep breath, opened the door, and went across the hall. He did not pause, but opened the door to this room, went it, and shut it behind him. The man was sitting on a pallet, an overturned chair beside him. The man looked up, startled.
“What are you doing here? You can’t be here.”
“I need to know how you know my language. I need you to tell me how I can get my people back home.”
“Your people are gone. Forget them. Your only chance now is to accept the word of God, and live out your days in His service.”
“What is this ‘god’? How do you know my language?”
The man said nothing for a few breaths, his eyes lost, his hands limp in his lap. Black Soil looked down at him. Yes, they had the same skin color. This man’s head was shaved, but he could see black stubble at the side. The same dark as his hair, he imagined. The man stood then, and righted the overturned chair, indicating for Black Soil to sit. He returned to the pallet.
“I used to be like you,” began the man, looking at Black Soil for a moment, but then turning to the window and addressing his words to the air. “I haven’t spoken this language in many years, it takes awhile to remember the words, the rhythm of it. I lived in a far away place, a place like the one you have come from I’m sure. I was young, and training to be a warrior for my people. We lived by the ocean and fished mostly. Sometimes, we would meet other tribes and trade with them – fish for venison, fish for beans and squash. Always we stayed by the sea, and fished throughout the year. In the cold times, we would find frozen lakes and cut holes in the ice to get to the fish. We lived together. We were happy in our ignorance.”
“What does that mean, ‘ignorance’?” Asked Black Soil, surprised.
“It means we didn’t know the Word of God, the Savior. We worshipped lesser gods. Weaker gods. I’ve learned that all those people, my family, my tribe, are not part of God’s family because no one has brought them The Word. They are probably all dead now.” He looked down at the floor.
Black Soil stared at his face with a look of confusion. “It sounds like you lived where I live, but I never heard of anyone going away, how did you get here?”
“I was out with a hunting party, all of us young warriors. We were in a great long canoe, paddling out into the harbor to reach a small island. We were going to stay there for the night and return in the morning with lobster and otter. Maybe some eels, if we could find them. Our sachem was going to hold a festival the next day, and many tribes would gather at our shore. As we paddled out, we saw one of the English ships coming into the harbor. That was nothing new – we’d had many interactions with them through the years. They would take our fish and give us rope or blades in return. Sometimes, we would have pelts that we had saved for them, and they would give us strange food and tobacco. Our sachem like to smoke their leaves in his pipe.” The man was silent again, looking out the window at something very far away. He massaged his jaw as if forming the words in Black Soil’s language had made it sore.
“We saw a ship too,” said Black Soil. “Well, at first we saw two of them, then they went away. On the last day of our festival, one of them returned.”
“This time it was different,” continued the man as though he had not heard Black Soil, “The captain called down to us from the deck. He asked if we would come aboard the ship. This was unusual – normally, we would trade with him on shore, lay out all the preserved fish and pelts we had, and the sailors would do the same with their goods.” He got up and walked to the window, clasping his hands behind his back. “I called up to him because I knew more of their words than the other warriors did. I had gone out with my father to fish, and we often went out past the harbor. We were the first ones to trade with the ships, and I learned how to speak to them. I said that we wouldn’t come up because we were out hunting, and didn’t have anything to trade with them yet. I told them to go to shore and wait, we would be back the next day with a boat full of fish to trade.” He unclasped his hands and twisted them in front of his stomach, worrying the skin on his fingers.
“They told us their fishing nets were stuck,” said Black Soil quietly.
“‘No, no,’ the captain said,” continued the man, turning from the window to face Black Soil, “‘we have something special for you, you don’t need to trade anything for it.’ I told the other warriors, and they agreed that we could take a little extra time. Maybe they would give us something we could bring back to the sachem, and he would praise us. So we pulled alongside the great ship, and they threw a rope ladder down to our canoe. All of us climbed up to the deck. All of us left the canoe.”
“What did they give to you?” asked Black Soil.
“Give to us?” The man asked, looking at Black Soil as if seeing him for the first time. “They told us it was down underneath the deck, that we should all go. The captain led the way – why wouldn’t we? We went down, and it was a small room. It was empty. Once we were all there, the captain suddenly said, ‘Oh, I remember, it’s up in my cabin. No need for us all to go, you stay here, and I’ll be right back with it, you’re going to love it.’ Then he climbed up, and the door shut. It was very dark in the room. We waited, but he didn’t come back like he said. Eventually, we pounded on the door and yelled, trying to kick it open, but it was locked. None of us could get it open. We didn’t even know it was possible not to get a door open.”
“I don’t know how we got into that room myself. We were trying to help them untangle their fishing nets when I got hit in the head. When I awoke, all of us were in the room,” said Black Soil.
“Many days, many days passed,” the man continued, “we prayed to the gods, to the Great Spirit, but none of them came. It was just us, down in the darkness. The seas were rough. I had never experienced the sea below the decks of a ship, where I couldn’t feel the sea air on my face, the wind, watch the sun in the morning. It was hard not to know even where down was all the time. Sometimes, the ship rocked and swayed so much I thought we would go upside down. The men were very afraid, but tried to act like warriors. Eventually, we came here, and the captain and the sailors tied us up and led us to the market.”
“They made us stay in another small room on shore for a night before we went to the market,” said Black Soil, looking down at his feet.
“All the warriors, all the warriors, the strong men, the pride of my people were sold. Slaves. I was brought here by the brothers, where my soul was saved.”
“What happened to those men?” Black Soil asked, sitting up straighter and leaning closer to the man.
“Those men are gone. Your men are gone,” he said, meeting Black Soil’s eye for the first time, “heathen born, heathen sold. It makes no difference where they went. You were brought here, you have a chance. Convince your friend, accept the Lord as your savior.”
“Convince my friend?” Asked Black Soil.
“I saw the whip marks, worse than yours. He’s young, probably trying to be a warrior, probably trying to impress you.”
“He is a warrior,” answered Black Soil with a voice of ice, “he’s a Man of Great Honor, like all of us. I need to find the rest of my people. You could help us, you could tell us how to get home. Come with us. Come back home to your people.”
“This is my home now,” answered the man, shaking his head. “All the time on the ship, all the time we prayed for our gods to come and rescue us. They never came. Those gods are weak. They don’t know how to help people on ships, help people in this land. I was brought here and learned about the one true God. White man’s God is much stronger than anything we had at home. My God is a higher power, a stronger God.”
There was a splashing sound on the roof from a few windows down from their open one. The man started, looking at the window, then hastily turning back to Black Soil.
“We don’t have time to talk. I can’t talk to you like this again,” he said, rising, waving to Black Soil to stand.
“Wait,” said Black Soil, facing him, “at least tell me where we can go when we get outside. We could get on a ship heading back home.”
“The Brothers bought you, you can’t just leave. They will convert you. You have no choice. It would be better for you to accept. You are a warrior, join with a stronger God.”
“I was chosen by the Great Spirit – ”
“And where is the Great Spirit? Where has the Great Spirit been since you got here?” The sound of a shutting window made him gulp. “We have no time. Go back to your room before someone finds you here. The Brothers will begin the process tomorrow, they have waited enough for you to heal from your travels.” He put a hand on Black Soil’s shoulder and began shoving him toward the door.
“What will happen to us?” Black Soil asked when they reached the door.
“You will be converted. You will accept the one true God.”
“I will not – ”
“You will. The Brothers will convert you. Understand,” the man said, lowering his voice, “The Brothers will convert you and you will accept the word of God. They do not care if you accept on your last breath, as long as you accept, they have served God’s purpose. Tell the young warrior.” He opened the door and pushed Black Soil back into the hallway and closed the door.
Black Soil stood in the hallway a moment, then crossed back into the empty room. He went to the window and looked out. The sun had set, and the daylight was fading. His head was reeling from the conversation. That man was once a warrior, was once a Man of Great Honor. Black Soil could see a few stars in the sky now. He didn’t even know what the man’s name was. The air was cooler, soothing his temples. Who were these people? Who was this “God”? He thought of home, remembering his ceremony when he became a Man of Great Honor. Was it time for him to call the Rage? Black Soil stood at the window until the moon had risen, and his breath had returned to normal. Then he went back down the hall to his room. Path of Fire was still on his side, sleeping.