Flight of Fancy: Cora's Daughters (4 page)

He wanted to know about these three men and the bodies he’d recovered from them - the bodies of the fancies who had not survived the parties. He wanted to know how they died – what had been done to them.

Chapter Two

Asiza couldn’t think of what to do next – she had no plan.

That was the thing about being free, you were forced to make decisions for yourself.

Everything about your day, your night, your life – belonged to you. She wasn’t so sure what to do with her days, her nights, her life. This was all new.

Having sat for so long, and then coming down from her hiding place, she walked the woods, hunted, gathered her needs, ate and made new arrows for her bow. She fashioned hides for moccasins – because her feet had to be taken care of before anything else, they were her vehicle – and for them, she must do her best. She braided her long hair, and wore only the slightest, dullest of rabbit skins to blend in. Less was more when it came to free movement and hiding out. 

It was late summer, soon to come – autumn and harvest – the best time to gather seeds. She didn’t know where she was going, or where she would end up. What she did know, was that mama had said, never go anywhere in life, without seeds. With her make shift pouch, she started collecting as many as she could find. She supposed that she should start heading away from the territory - and she would, as soon as she took care of all the things needed to travel on foot.

For weapons, she had a dagger, a whip, that she used very well, and her bow and arrows. The slaves belonging to the mayor gave her things to help her on her way. Contributing that way was the only way they had been willing to give her aid, as frightened of the consequences as they were. The oldest of them blessed her, stated they would pray for her and then sent her on her way.

Four days had passed since her escape.

Two days since she’d killed the dogs.

She was on the move once more, deciding the best thing, was to go and see her mother. Cora would know what to do. Also, there was Suga – maybe she would talk Suga into coming along with her, to be free – not to end up as some evil white man’s fancy. Her sister was too sweet and gentle to be a fancy - the idea of her falling into the wrong hands worried Asiza.

As for her other sisters, there was nothing she could do about them, they were already gone. There was only herself, Suga and her mother left. She would go to them, and maybe while there, she would handle Master Gareth once and for all. To do that, she needed to get moving – not only that, she needed a horse. Although comfortable with traveling on foot, in order to cover the distance she needed to travel to get back to the plantation she came from – she would have to procure a horse.

“Asiza… why are you still in the area?” Broc spoke softly to himself as if the woman he was hunting could hear him. Once he found the location where the dogs had been killed, he stayed there studying the tracks and evidence of her presence.

He knelt in the midst of where she'd been, looking around, letting his horse freely graze upon vegetation. When tracking, he spent more time on foot than on horseback, especially if the fugitive was on foot. Training his horse had been almost like training a dog – there was no need to hold onto the reins. When dismounting, he wound them around the saddle horn and left his mare to follow along freely. If there was an urgent need to ride, he only needed to click his tongue and she would be by his side. 

As for the scene before him, one had to pay close attention to the forest and know what was natural to it. There were signs of various animals passing, they always left a trail – and if man or woman traveled through, they also left a distinctive sign of being there – one had to know what one was looking for. He examined the grounds where two of the dogs were said to have been hit by arrows and another stabbed. He stood imagining the scenario that would give her the advantage over the dogs.

Careful with each step, he studied the ground and the landscape, then noticed something about where he stood – he looked at the trees surrounding him.

Especially the tree he stood next to, unlike the others, this one had strong limbs that could be climbed and settled upon. Staring up into the boughs of it and then down, he smiled. A funny feeling was coming over him, he was actually enjoying this. A little more time spent there and he could see, she made sure they knew where she was, like a spider setting a trap for bugs, and they’d rushed right into it.

She was cunning.

She’d prepared herself.

She was fearless.

She was also at home in the forest, using what it provided. The men from town were right, if they were to come in after her in numbers, she would no doubt pick them off one by one – as she had their dogs.

He knelt at the tree base where he found wood chips and shavings.

She was making more weapons.

He stood and carefully searched to see if there were more, and found a few that led toward a path. He knew that he was on her trail and must travel carefully not to veer from it.

Following her, his imagination started forming a picture of what she might look like, the thought of her intrigued him. He thought it interesting that this woman had been bred as a fancy. He knew of fancies, the early Irish, male and female, had been used to breed them. That bit of his history had been shared with him by his grandfather as well. In his short life, he had seen a few in passing as well. They were held under tight restriction, chosen and kept for the pleasures of any high born, white men of wealth – mainly those who could afford them. A taboo closeted away from polite society as if such a thing did not go on.

Long before the arrival of the elite and the changes that enslavement brought to them, women of color had been coupled with men like him. Chosen for their life knowledge, stamina, loyalty and compassion, thus often married as a life mate. They were hardy, knew the land, how to survive, and equal to any as hunters and gatherers.

Yes… he
knew
their worth.

Spain, France and Europe invaded, took advantage, altered, ruined and massacred by the thousands - wiping out entire tribes – taking their women.

Turning them into reproducers to do nothing more than fill their base, demonic needs. Breeding them like animals and now, they were sold out of their reach as fancies. Telling all other men not of their station, they were not allowed to have them, but the elite could have them, in the back rooms, in the hidden places, via; private auctions.

However, it would seem – there were many, who strongly objected to being used in such a way. Their strong morals caused them to object – morals so strong that they would rather kill themselves, or - murder their owners.

Such as the one he was in pursuit of… Asiza.

“Asiza … Asiza…” He repeated the name over and over – feeling the gentle sounds of it rolling off of his tongue, easing through his lips. Doing so gave him an unusual sensation. He'd never heard the name before, but it gave him a peculiar itch. In his continuing to track her, he made the mistake of talking to her as he picked up more signs of her trail. Branches broken off - appearing to be the perfect size for arrows, and as he walked he observed more shavings.

She was walking and prepping them as she went.

He found that smart, as well as dumb.

Smart because it kept her on the move.

Dumb because it left a trail.

However, she didn’t fear leaving a trail. She knew the terror she had seared into the men from town – which would keep them out of the woods and away from her. Surely she realized they would send someone else to find her, and thus – leaving evidence of her activities would lead that one, straight to her?

He stopped and considered that.

She was readying herself to kill again.

“Asiza… you cannot win in this… darlin’ - you cannot win.”

He shook his head. He’d called her darlin’. He had never laid eyes on her. Yet, walking along her trail, within the woods – he felt himself drawn to her for reasons other than – hunting her for gold.

Perhaps it was because he admired her grit for survival. She was courageous, this was plain to comprehend. If all that had been said, was true, Asiza would not go down without a fight. Knowing what he did – how could he blame her? He couldn’t help but wonder what exactly they tried to do to her? What perverted act made her turn on them with such savagery?

He would know when he caught up with her, and he would catch up, it was only a matter of time.

In fact, the reward money was looking less appealing. The more time he spent going after her, the more his motivation to catch her began to shift. Something more intrinsic inspired his tenacious search for her now. Continuing, he discovered she’d hacked a sapling – just right for what she needed. She’d stopped where he stood, there in that spot, he could see she’d shaved it down to make a spear for herself.

Spears meant hunting.

“Asiza… Asiza… who are you…
what
are you – a woman driven, running for her life, or – a spirit – wicked as they fear?”

Broc felt his heart stir and pound more rapidly. A slight smile cracked his stern mask – this was one helluva fancy. She was self-sufficient and knew what she needed to do to survive and was doing just that. That something he'd inherited from the first Irish who walked the land – was coming to life within him, strong and sure. She – Asiza, fitted what many of them would have considered and chosen because of her top assets for a life mate. He couldn't wait to see her, once he lay eyes on her, he would know.

Her tracks led him to a stream – he followed it until he came to a place where the ground was sodden and pressed down. Matted with mud and gravel, there was also evidence of why - remains of a catfish. The head, the skeleton, the tail…was all that remained.

Again he smiled, he allowed few people to see this side of him, the smiling laid back side. “Eat well Asiza.” Seeing what she would soon be eating made him hungry. Yet, he would have to wait to eat. Berries, roots, raw vegetation would have to be his mainstay until he stopped for the night. Truth be told, if he really wanted to, he could rush forward and be more aggressive in his tracking.

Sitting upon his mares back he could have her in his sights before nightfall – yet, something in him made him maintain the place within her shadow. To catch her, meant to kill her, and return with her head for his remaining payment. Once more, the thought kept making him feel uneasy – arousing that icky feeling. It flowed up his spine to settle at the base of his skull, to move down over his chest and then further until he had a stomachache. He would stay on her trail, maybe focus on bringing her in sight, and then – maybe stalk her for a while, watch her – just to see how dangerous she really was.

He refused to let enter his mind that he had
never
handled a fugitive this way. He’d been a bounty hunter for 6 years, starting at the young age of 24 – what he’d learned early on, was always be several steps ahead of your prey – circle around them and let them fall into coming to you.

He wasn’t doing that this time. He was following, and remaining a few steps behind, using all the little signs she left to tell him things about her – as if getting to know her.

Things he already knew about her...

She was unwilling to be a fancy.

She was a fighter – to the death.

She was a survivor.

She knew the forest.

She could climb trees.

She carried weapons for hunting and killing, with full knowledge and confidence in using them.

She did not fear dogs, in fact – it was possible she lay traps to kill them.

She did not fear death. Evidenced by the fact that she readily killed three white men.

She was African and Indian.

She had green eyes... he had green eyes.

They said... she was a fancy, real easy on the eyes.

Broc wanted to see this woman with his own eyes.

As his desires grew of what he'd like to do to her, in just the few days of his tracking her – he was feeling the discomfort of this job.

His conscience was getting to him.

The undertaker’s words about what those men had done to past fancies kept going through his mind. Had they tried those things on Asiza – ugly, cruel things that were now, flashing through his mind.

He was disturbed to be thinking.

One thing about being alone on a trail, one did a lot of thinking. One’s mind showed things, conjured things, gave one a clear view of what had been, and what could be. All of it turned on ill feelings. The face of his grandfather appeared in his mind’s eye, if he knew what he was doing that very moment – Broc knew his expression of disappointment would be aimed straight at him. Yet he carried on. His reward for doing so was finally clear to see.

The sixth day on her trail, he was staring right at her.

He could not believe his eyes.

It appeared, his imagination was lacking - it by no means had come close to conjuring the vision before him now.