Le Roi Du Sang Read online

  Her fingers, neck, every exposed part of her flesh was bloodied and smeared with dirt from hours of running, hiding, falling, and getting back up all over again. She could feel the itch from the caked-on filth and the malodorous underarms induced by fear. Trickles of sweat drizzled from her pores like water from tipped floral vases. Venus’ body jerked and propelled forward from pure cool terror and heated adrenaline.

  Her thick, black, wooly hair had been pinned high and away from her face as usual, but from all the running and dodging, it was now in her way. The pins had fallen out miles ago. Coiled, dry tresses bounced in her eyes with each rapid step, tampering with her visibility in the middle of the night. She continued on, working past her brutal exhaustion and all the odds against her, giving herself mental pep-talks each step of the way.

  “No!” She hissed as cool air cut across her hip. She paused for a spell and peered at her body. The darkness allowed little visibility, but moonlight shone through the trees every now and again, and she realized she was now half naked, the once thick dress ripped apart, practically reduced to ribbons by the unforgiving wilderness, as if it had fingers, knives, and teeth trying to cut her up and eat her alive.

  Venus was certain she’d never forget this date, the 18th of December. She kept on running through the vast forest full of overgrown, twisted trees that almost seemed to come to life. The creepy noises bouncing around, echoing about, sounding much like men, ghosts, and indistinguishable mammals that made the hairs on her neck stand to attention.

  I’m gonna catch pneumonia if I don’t find this place soon…

  Her feet were covered in thick wool socks and black ankle boots, protecting her feet at least, but the rest of her was in pure torment. Her eyes now burned from falling debris. Howling and snarling wild beasts hidden in the brush made her heart beat against her chest like an angry, fist full of white rage. She was no stranger to that, either…

  The Panic financial crisis had made the White folks meaner than ever, as if that were even possible. Venus barely knew the touch of cool circular metal in the palm of her hand, let alone paper bills, to afford to know the difference. She sighed for a spell, looked in all directions, and resigned herself to the fact that if she didn’t rest for a few minutes, she’d burn out quick, topple over in fatigue, and be as good as caught.

  Just a moment or two… then I’ll be back on my feet.

  She found a large tree and slumped against its rough bark, the sweat draining down her face making her jolt from the chill of the cutting air licking her skin like the rough tongue of a feline. Her thoughts raced…

  This ain’t right. Did I get lost? I don’t think so. Where will I go if I can’t find this place? I can’t think like that. Gotta stay focused. They say there’s a cabin in the woods I can hide in… they say it’s safe… they ain’t have no reason to make it up, to lie. I gotta keep goin’. I can’t go back there. If that’s livin’, I’d rather be dyin’.

  And then, she remembered what had made the monsters within the White man all the more atrocious… Yes, that’s right, she’d been thinking about The Panic…

  The Panic had made a mess of the White folks’ money and though she didn’t know the ins and outs of it, she knew enough. Something about President Jackson and the charter of the Second Bank… unemployment and the like. She’d heard them talking, and she recognized a few words here and there, though she was far from fluent. She could barely read, just a wee little bit. Nevertheless, worries like this made people speak their minds, hoping that their tongues would put an end to the worries. The White people had gotten strange. Money woes caused the wealthiest of men to look rattled, to take their aggressions out on the innocent. Fear and panic looked the same, regardless of whether those eyes were bright sky blue or midnight black. Didn’t matter if the flesh around them was pale and freckled or smooth and dark mahogany. The Panic caused a madness… a frothing of the brain. It’s like the White folks had rabies, but you couldn’t see it until they was up on you. The beatings got worse; the abuse had taken a different spin, climbed up to a whole different level…

  He gonna kill me… He gonna shoot me dead.

  She got up sooner than she’d planned and made her escape, running as fast as her bloodied legs would carry her. She was hungry and thirsty, fighting time. Nobody fought time and won…

  I gotta live… I gotta live!

  That thought whirled in her head as she heard the faint bark of dogs in the distance, hot on her trail. The same dogs no doubt that watched her and the rest of ’em working the rice and sugar fields. The same dogs that begged for scraps when she helped in the kitchen, while sometimes debating on whether to toss a few drops of arsenic in Master Miller’s morning oats. The same dogs that used her little slanted house made of clay and other cheap materials as shelter when it rained. Master didn’t want their stinking behinds smellin’ up his big, nice house after they’d been caught in a downpour. Those dogs, the same ones who’d rub up against her leg and beg for a scratch along the head, had now been sent to sink their razor-sharp teeth into her calves, vying to tear her apart like meat from a bone. The thought of their pursuit gave her an extra boost of strength.

  She ran and ran, now almost convinced her heart was going to give out before she’d even drawn close to the little cabin the others would whisper about.

  Venus, what you gone and done?! But I had to go. I ain’t have no choice! Please God protect me!

  She zigzagged through the maze of saplings, her eyes wide as the full, white moon that shone its light like a beam. She came to a small clearing, bare of the towering things. Now, everything was crystal clear. The moon lit the way much better, but at the same time, this was sure to make her more visible, too. She tucked her fears away and kept moving, chasing shadows and glints of light. Her tawny limbs were slathered in the oily, dark solvent, just like Joseph had told her to do. Right before she’d made her exit, she’d covered herself from head to toe in the stuff. It would help to mask her scent, he’d said… confuse the hounds. But nothing could stop the crackling of the dried grass and slender broken branches beneath her feet. She believed she was breathing loud, too; even her sweat seemed to scream as it clung to whatever clothing she had left on her.

  I ain’t have no choice! I couldn’t just keep takin’ it!

  Ahead, there was nothing but blackness. The moon was hiding behind another cluster of high trees; it had closed its mouth and swallowed the glow. Stretching her arms out to feel her way around, she made sure to not deviate from the path. Getting lost wasn’t an option. If anyone got a hold of her, she could meet her end.

  She’d already tried to run away two years previously and was whipped nearly to death. Her back still bore a thick welt. She’d heard the stories… this second offense would result in much worse. If she was lucky, when caught, she’d be sliced on her face and burned, perhaps branded with an ‘R’ for runaway for all to know. If she were unlucky, he’d put a bullet in her head…

  But the bullet in the head seemed a far better option than one more night on the Miller Plantation in St. James Goose Creek parish…

  Just that morning, Master Miller had come to her again, his fists balled up tight. He’d told her to go back out to the rice field. She’d passed out and was allowed to go back indoors for a spell and drink some water. When ten minutes or so passed, she ignored the call to return. He arrived there and demanded she go out. He was three hands short. Paul had died the week before; the man had to have been in his 50s. Betty had given birth that morning to a stillborn and lost a lot of blood, so they let her be, and William’s whereabouts were unknown. She surmised he’d been sold since he was accused of causing trouble. She’d caused trouble too, but he wouldn’t shake her loose. When she’d tried to explain that she was ill, Master Miller had smacked her so hard, she’d lost consciousness. When she’d come to, her dress was hiked up around her hips and he was nowhere in sight. It hadn’t been the first time he’d done such a thing, but she’d meant it to be the last.
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br />   She gritted her teeth as anger surged through her once again. The memories took hold, warming her cold body – the remembrance of the dull ache between her legs, the taste and smell of stale tobacco against her lips where’d he kissed her while she was swimming in the black fog of unconsciousness. She hated his scent; his body had a strange sweet stench, like that of a damn pig running all about in the sun. She hated his voice; it was high pitched like a fowl’s. He was short and stout, strong and bullheaded. Sometimes she’d size him up and think about attacking him… a fantasy that had been on repeat in her mind for years, but she’d never acted on it. For a moment, before she’d run off that afternoon, she’d contemplated getting the gun William had been trusted with to go hunting, right before he disappeared, and taking matters into her own hands.

  It was always in the third cabin near the big house. Bastards were trusting enough to hand them guns to kill their dinner, make ’em chop wood with the axes, but made sure they’d beat the hide off ’em for trying to read and write. She envisioned herself swinging that axe and landing it right in the center of his skull, splitting his fat face clean down the middle… Or shooting that gun, aiming it right between his light brown, beady eyes…

  She hated everything about him… his twisted, thin pink lips… the odd shape of his ears… the wispy strands of dark blond hair, visible only when he wasn’t donning his wide-brimmed black hat. She hated his long-faced wife, their spoiled, disrespectful children, the land, the alligator-infested rice fields, the smell of death and disease all around her…

  She hated the man who had killed her mama right in front of her when she’d been just a young child, and she hated his whole family for it, too. That had been a different master… a man Mama had put roots on. Hatred kept Venus alive. It ran through her veins like the velvety rich history her grandmother had told her of their family… They were from Nigeria and Gambia. She held on tight to that identity, for if she survived, she’d be responsible for telling her children the truth about them, too. Time had no beginning and no end.

  She realized that the moon had shifted positions.

  The sun gonna come up soon… If they ain’t close behind, they camped out and they’ll be after me again. This time, their cavalry will be doubled.

  Every muscle in her body was on fire, as if soaked in kerosene and lit with a tossed flame. Just as she was about to slump down onto the cold ground and contemplate how to dig her own grave with her bare hands, she spotted a cabin in the near distance.

  Jesus! My Lord!

  She raced forward, her wobbly legs and knees almost giving out. Soon, she’d reached the creaky steps. The porch was uneven, weathered, and the windows were covered with dark linens. She swallowed, tasting the saltiness of her split lower lip as she ran her tongue across it. Arm up, she said a silent prayer and rapped on the door. There was no sound, no light, no signs of life in that cabin.

  Oh yes, I need to do the special knock…

  She rapped again, and this time she did three knocks… paused… two knocks… paused… then two more. She waited. The door swung open revealing darkness like she’d never seen. The smell of sweet perfume drifted around her as she stood there, confused. No one was there, but it felt like there was.

  “Hello? I… uh…”

  “I know why you’re here,” came a deep, female voice that sent chills up her spine. From the darkness emerged one of the tallest women she’d ever laid eyes on. The lady’s skin was so white, it made white look dark… Her eyes were a piercing, icy blue, and her pitch black, shiny hair was pulled tight and pinned up with a sparkling dark red pendant that looked as if it cost more money than one could even imagine. Dressed in a long emerald gown, the woman smiled down at her, studying her from head to toe. She clasped her hands together. “Come in here before they see you.”

  Venus looked over her shoulder. For a split second, she wondered if what was behind her was worse than what was before her…

  Her body tingled with chills; her mind whirled with forbidding thoughts. Making a fast decision, she stepped over the threshold. As soon as she did, the cabin seemed to come to life, becoming instantly aglow with candles, a roaring fire, warmth, and a wooden table laden with large bowls, silver platters full of food, big, glass pitchers of water, and a dark red, pretty drink she couldn’t identify.

  “Have a seat.” The woman pointed to a chair at the end of the table.

  Venus made her way over and plopped down. Her spine seemed to give out as her muscles turned to mush and every fiber of her body twisted and flinched, screaming out in agony. Her stomach rumbled at the sight of the feast, though she tried to keep her eye on the woman, too.

  “My name is Geneviève.” She glided slowly towards the fire, her face split in a smile that was troubling and comforting all at the same time. Picking up an iron poker, she began to work the fire. The flames came to life, almost yelling from her touch. “I first want you to eat and drink, get warm. Then you can bathe. I have clothes for you; they should fit. After that, you will need to get some sleep.”

  “Hello, Geneviève. I… I can’t thank you enough. Thank you for lettin’ me in. I’m not even sure I’m alive right now. Feels like I’m dreamin’… feels like I’m half dead.”

  “Oh no, my dear. You’re very much alive…I can hear your strong heartbeat, your rich blood flowing… poor thing.” The woman kept her back straight as the glow of the fire surrounded her like some blazing halo.

  Venus tilted her head to the side and tried to concentrate on what was being said, the odd feeling in the place… but as soon as trepidation crept across her mind like marching ants along a twig, peace transfixed it, wiped the worries away.

  “My name is Venus. Venus Anderson,” she offered.

  The woman nodded and drew closer until finally, she was standing before her. Venus stared up into her icy blue eyes, and a strange sensation overwhelmed her, putting her in a peaceful state, as though someone was singing a lullaby to her. The towering woman gently outstretched her pale, cold hand and tilted her chin upward, then turned her face from side to side, as if doing some sort of inspection. When she was done, she walked to the other end of the table and took her seat. Grabbing one of the glass pitchers filled with something dark red, she poured it into a beautiful goblet and took a sip.

  “Venus, eat until you are full. Drink until your thirst is quenched. This time tomorrow, I will be gone and you will be in a wagon headed to a place called New York. Are you familiar with the name of that state?”

  Venus nodded. Grabbing a warm, buttery roll from the basket, she jammed it into her mouth. She swallowed hard, and before long, she’d consumed a big bowl of delicious chicken stew, a plate of peppers and corn, and collard greens, washing it all down with two large glasses of water.

  The woman offered more and more food. Gooey sweets, hot drinks, and plenty of liquor. Venus passed on the alcohol, but accepted a cup of hot tea with honey and lemon, which made the tickle in her throat go away… the first sign of a cold.

  Geneviève barely spoke for quite some time, but her actions showed how much she cared. She placed a thick red blanket along her shoulders, took her hand, and made her settle directly in front of the fire.

  “There you go, Venus… lie there and finish your tea. When you feel like yourself again, I will show you to your bath and you can dress in fresh, dry, clean clothing.”

  Venus looked at the woman whose skin was so light, it appeared to have a blue glow to it, like that of the full moon. She simply couldn’t get over it. Her companion was so strange looking, yet mesmerizing, too. She was beautiful in her own way.

  “Thank you, Ma’am. I can’t thank you enough. If you don’t mind me askin’, how’d you get into this line of work? Seems you’ve been doin’ it for a long time.”

  Geneviève’s eyes glowed as she hesitated for a spell. She clasped her hands together.

  “Venus, I believe man, all man, is created equal. Not one of you is greater or lesser than the other. I’ve been do
ing this for a long time, indeed. How I got into it is unimportant, but let’s just say, I have my reasons.”

  Venus nodded and took another sip from her cup. She turned towards the fire and stared into it, the flames drawing her in as they jumped and danced like the ancestors Grandmama had told her about…

  When she turned back around, the table was cleared, as if nothing had been on it at all. In fact, the entire cabin looked different… and yet, the same. Another chill ran down Venus’ spine, despite her being so close to the fire. In the distance, she heard water pouring, as if someone was dumping a big bowl of it into something. She could no longer see Geneviève, but she sensed the woman’s presence. After a few moments, she finished her tea and got to her feet. When she turned around to set the empty cup on the table, she screamed and dropped it… and it shattered at her feet.

  “I scared you… my apologies, Venus,” the woman stated as she stood so close to her, she could see every nuance of her face. The fire highlighted the details of skin that looked inhuman… oddly, perfectly smooth, like a porcelain doll kept in the master’s house for all his little girls to fawn over.

  “I—I’m sorry…” Venus immediately dropped to her knees and began to pick up the shattered pieces of pottery, slicing her finger open in the process. “Oh, no.” She immediately brought it to her lips and sucked the droplets of blood from her fingertip.

  An eerie exhale emitted from Geneviève, and when she looked back up at the woman, her lips were parted, her eyes wide, and her chest was heaving up and down as if she were having some sort of attack. The woman suddenly turned away.