Burning Woman and the Ghost Lance
Chapter 6

Statement of the prisoner, Dr. Tlatlasihuatl. January 18, 1993 CY

With the dawn of the third day came a promise of wonders undreamed. The cries of sea birds filled the morning air, and I knew that land must be close by. The roar of waves besieging a beach became clear to me, and I knew that I was not to end my days bobbing on the sea like so much flotsam.

The sound of crashing waves grew louder as I drifted with the current. The next time I crested a wave I happened to be looking in the right direction, and there was land!

I struggled to swim while holding the lamp, but finally gave up and just swam to the beach, releasing my creation to the whims of the tide.

I dragged myself up to where the sand was dry and collapsed face down. I had not slept since I had been washed overboard, but I knew I could not sleep until I had found shelter. I was so tired, though, that I rested on the warm sand for a time…

A poke in the ribs with a sharp stick awakened me.

I groaned as I rolled over to see what form of attack was assaulting me, and what manner of cretin had dared such a deed unprovoked.

A troop of nut-brown children had gathered. They all drew back as their supposed corpse began to stir, and looked down upon me with enormous brown eyes, as though I might be some dangerous form of sea monster who was preparing to gobble them up for breakfast.

Breakfast. What a marvelous word. At that moment, though, I would have settled for some non-salty water. Food could wait. Not for too long, of course, but I felt as though I had to set priorities.

I addressed the nearest child – a husky brute of at least ten summers who appeared to be the leader, and was the only one holding a stick, so I assumed he had been the one to poke me in the ribs, which meant he was by far the bravest among them – and asked him to bring me water. The large-eyed staring continued unabated, so I tried a different language. After I had exhausted all the languages I knew, I tried pantomime, forming my hand into a cup shape and bringing it to my lips, as though I was drinking, then smiling at them in what I hoped was a friendly-looking manner.

This elicited a reaction, at least. They all yelled and ran away. I had been hoping for a better reaction, but maybe they were going to get some water?

I tried to gather myself to stand, and found that it took more effort than I had expected. After struggling for several minutes, I managed to rise to all fours. After a few more struggles and groans, I placed my feet flat on the sand beneath me and pushed myself up.

I fell almost at once, but kept trying. I fell again, and I became grateful that sand is so soft. After falling several times I finally made it to a standing position and remained thus.

It was then that I saw a horde of semi-naked nut-brown people heading in my direction. Most of the men carried spears in a manner that suggested they were proficient in their use.

With nowhere to run and no possible means to defend myself, all I could do was hold out my arms to show my empty hands and smile.

To my surprise, they stopped several yards away and gathered in a semi-circle, keeping their distance from me. There were as many women as men, though only the men held spears, which they kept pointed in my direction. Both sexes wore some kind of skirt or kilt made of colorful cloth, and necklaces made of flowers, as well as various tattoos and jewelry. The women were otherwise as bare-chested as the men.

They all stared at me with the same wide-eyed curiosity as the children had shown. Was I so different from them, I wondered? We stood thus for a very long time, by my reckoning. They made no move to approach me or bring me water. I think I said something to them, but I do not remember what it was. The effort of standing was beginning to overwhelm me. I felt light-headed and started to wonder if standing up had been such a good idea after all. It turned out that it was not too late to reconsider that decision, and the sand embraced me once more.

I recall a dream, or more accurately a nightmare, from that time. I was floating on the dark sea with the sky obscured by clouds, I clutched feebly at a glass jar that no longer gave off light or heat. I felt the kelp entangle my legs, and I began to drown as it pulled me below the surface.

I remember that I awoke with a start, gasping for air.

It was not a kelp bed I was in, but a hammock suspended from the bamboo frame of a grass hut. I had entangled my legs in the mosquito netting. Trying to free myself, I frantically thrashed around and threw myself out of the hammock. My legs were still tangled, so I was hanging upside down. I thought about calling for help, but then decided it was just too embarrassing. I resigned myself to my fate as the blood rushed to my head.

There were voices around me, chanting in an unfamiliar language to the accompaniment of harsh drums. I smelled palm wood smoke and cooked meat. Other odors were less distinct. Saffron and coconut oil, I think. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I must have made some noise. A young woman entered the hut and laid a warm soft hand across my brow to calm me. After untangling my legs and helping me back into the hammock in the way that people are apparently supposed to lie in hammocks, rather than hanging upside-down from them, she smiled at me and left. When she returned after a short time, or at least it seemed like a short time -- I may have fallen asleep, she brought a cup made from half a coconut to my lips, and I drank a thick, sweet liquid that had a slightly fermented aftertaste.

She may have whispered something in her strange tongue, but I was already falling asleep again.

The next time I awoke, I could hear birds singing unfamiliar tunes, and sunlight filtered through the thatching of the hut. The young woman returned with a cup of fresh, clean water. Over the cup, I looked up into her eyes, which looked into mine without fear or judgment. When I had drunk my fill, I indicated to her that I wished to rise. She helped me to my feet, and together we stepped out into the village.

I learned that the woman’s name was Amina. She assisted me in my toilet, and then fed me breakfast, which seemed to be mashed fruit. Easy to chew and swallow, as well as sweet and gentle on my neglected digestion.

Amina felt comforting by my side as she fed me. Her smile was brighter than the tropical sun. The whole time she spoke to me as though I could understand her, but, sadly, I was uncomprehending.

Amina introduced me to everyone in the village, starting with the chief and his family – Abdikarim, his wife Oluneka, his oldest son Kinekeni, second son Lonukala, and his twin daughters Kapala and Kenile.

There were about 20 or 30 more villagers, I lost count and could not begin to remember all of their names. I have spent sleepless nights trying, and I still can see their faces so clearly, but their names escape me. Perhaps if I had spent more time among them…

It was nearly a week before I felt well enough to walk unassisted. When I could, I went out to walk along the beach. I found the place where I had come ashore, but of course, the tide had washed away my footprints by then. Further down the beach there were some pieces of driftwood, along with some debris from the shipwreck. I found my glass jar light bulb, still connected to the dry accumulator. By then, of course, it was drained completely.

Then I spotted the barrels lashed together, and the rubber-covered wires of the voltaic piles! I dragged the heavy barrels up above the high-tide line, and spent the remainder of the day draining and refilling the barrels with fresh seawater. The light was faint in the late-afternoon sun, but I had one of the boys lash the jar to the top of a nearby palm tree. After the sunset, the electric light was clearly visible for a considerable distance in the night air. It continued acting as a poor man’s lighthouse for three nights before the filament burned out.

I experimented, carbonizing palm and coconut fibers until I found something that lasted more than a week. It also took some effort to keep the voltaic piles charged, but I managed to keep the light going for several more weeks.

Years went by. I had a number of electric lights going by then. Every hut on the island had a voltaic pile barrel, with light bulbs made from discarded glass jars or bottles that had washed ashore.

Amina and I grew closer over time. We had both felt the connection between us from the instant our eyes met on that first day, and that connection grew. It was her hut I had been sleeping in at first, but she had slept elsewhere to give me privacy. I had to beg her to come back to her own home, but when she did, after more than a year, we shared the same hammock.

Traditionally, homophobia has always been dominant among the Mexica, by social standards as well as religious doctrine. However, that was not always the case for the surrounding tribes that made up the nation as a whole. There was a time in the history of my country, back when it was still called Anahuac, that those we call “two spirit” folk were widely accepted, in some places venerated as powerful shamans. That changed when the ultra-conservative Obsidian Jaguars took over the government, and the state religion banned the unions of same-sex couples. Some were publicly put to death, along with anyone else that differed from their “moral standards,” or simply disagreed with them. Having lived in that environment, it was confusing and uncomfortable for me, at first, to express my love for Amina.

She had the patience of a goddess, of course. Waiting for me to cast aside my trained prejudices and find my own heart. It was a slow process. I was lonely, but I was used to being lonely, and always too distracted by my work to pay attention to my feelings. Years passed before we shared our first kiss.

There was still so much of our relationship to explore. So much more of her that I could have enjoyed. Our love had only begun to blossom, when one day our time ran out.

I had been doing some work with optics and mirrors in my spare time. I was tinkering with some crystal prisms one day, when one of the boys – the stocky lad with the sharp stick; I think his name was Korfa or something like that – came running into the village from the beach yelling something. I had been making some headway in learning the language after eight years of total immersion, but their concept of grammar and syntax was still baffling to me, so I missed part of it. It was something about a big canoe and a white cloud.

That’s when I heard the whistle of a steam ship. Without a thought, I leapt to my feet and ran to the beach. The entire village followed me, but my thoughts had already left them behind. Civilization had come to save me from paradise.

There was already a steam-powered launch approaching the shore as I rushed forward onto the pure white sand. The flag at the stern was the black-and-red of the Obsidian Jaguar. The sailors were uniformed in the SEOJ naval forces, though the uniforms seemed more imposing and harshly-styled than I remembered. Also, they all had short-cropped hair, which seemed completely unnatural for my countrymen. At the bow stood an officer with his squad of Sipactli, Crocodile Marines, looking particularly grim and lethal.

There was also a priest of the Smoking Mirror, in full raiment of feathered cloak, headdress, and Jaguar mask made of red jasper and black obsidian. His head was completely shaved, from what I could see of it. This was very strange. I remembered a time when our priests considered their long hair to be part of their contact with the Gods.

However, all I cared about at that moment was hearing the language of my homeland again. I was overjoyed.

I stumbled across the beach in my haste and stopped only at the sight of the muzzles of the Crocodile Marines’ carbines aimed at my chest. Undaunted, I waved my arms and shouted greetings in Nahuatl.

The launch grounded and the Crocodile Marines disembarked, never wavering in their apparent eagerness to slay me at the slightest provocation. The officer stepped boldly forward and asked me to identify myself.

“I am Doctor Matla Tlatlasihuatl, of the city of Cuauhtémoc. I am shipwrecked here from the Yellow Pearl. Will you grant me rescue?”

The officer was thoughtful for a moment, looked at me up and down, and then said, “You are a Medical Doctor?”

“A dentist, by specialty, sir.”

“A dentist?” He seemed taken aback by the idea of a female dentist shipwrecked on a tropical island, but recovered quickly and signaled his men to lower their weapons.

“Dr. Tlatlasihuatl, I am subaltern Holtlac of the warship Sipaktlantli. I have been given the mission of claiming this island for the Sacred Empire of the Obsidian Jaguar and to bring civilization to these people. I have been given no orders concerning shipwreck survivors, so you will be brought before Captain Xoctliac for further questioning and disposition.” He then directed me toward the launch, and I was dismissed.

As I boarded the vessel, I turned to see the villagers standing at the edge of the beach, in the shadow of the tall coconut palms. They looked sad and fearful, unsure of the people with the strange clothing and self-propelled canoes. I waved goodbye, smiling. Only Amina waved back. She did not smile.

It did not even occur to me that I might not see her again.

The captain held an audience with me on the bridge and questioned me at some length about my experiences with the shipwreck and my time on the island. When he learned that I was a dentist, he seemed to relax slightly. He asked me to have dinner with his officers in the wardroom, after the ship’s doctor had a chance to examine me for tropical diseases and parasites.

“You should also know,” said the captain at one point, “since you have been a castaway for so long and cut off from world events that we are at war with the Hundred Nations of the Kanonsionni, as well as their British allies.”

“War? Were we attacked?”

“We had the right to expand our territory,” he replied. “We claimed the Caribbean Archipelago as a natural need for more living room and resources. The empire needed to grow, as all living things do. You understand. They challenged our claim, and we had no choice but to defend ourselves.”

He laid a paternal hand on my shoulder, as though to comfort my fears.

“Do not be concerned, Doctor. Our military is far superior to theirs, and with the Turks as our supporting allies, the war will probably be over before we reach port.”

My silence, however, had nothing to do with fear for my own life, but a thoughtful realization of the aggressive attitude I had seen in the eyes of the Crocodile Marines on the beach. They had remained on shore, along with the priest and some sailors and their gear. Even then, I could hear the sounds of crates being unloaded, and the steam launch going back and forth between the ship and the beach. I might have followed the chain of logic that this implied, but my excitement overrode my rationality, and thought nothing more of it.

The captain offered the use of his stateroom and toilet facilities, and I was suddenly thrilled by the prospects of a hot shower. My outfit was strictly native after eight years, and I hoped to change into something more familiar. Unfortunately, the only women’s clothing on board was a provocatively low-cut evening gown, with high heels and other accessories of a French style. Apparently the first officer was a “collector” of ladies’ wear, an apparent source of humor for the crew. I have never been interested in such things, even while living in France, but the captain insisted. Fortunately the first officer and I were the same size.

While indulging in the luxury of warm fresh water washing over my body, I wondered at the lack of women on a warship of the Obsidian Jaguar. My people have never experienced the kind of gender segregation that I had seen in Ottoman-controlled Europe, or in Port Said. Was this yet another example of the ultra-conservatism in the Obsidian Jaguar government? Was it because of the war? How much had my homeland changed in my eighteen-year absence?

The captain had the additional luxury of a full-length mirror, which I took advantage of after my shower to admire my nude form. Island life had been good to me, and I began to understand why this crew of men had been so attentive, and why Amina looked at me the same way they did. For a woman just short of her fortieth birthday, I believe I had some reason to be proud of my appearance.

Having had a hot shower and change of clothing, I was ready for a tour of the ship, which the captain seemed overly eager to provide. An impressive number of the crew of the Sipaktlantli also expressed an eagerness to be close to me. I found their attention flattering, up to a point. The captain sensed my discomfort and ordered the men back to their duties. They looked crestfallen, but kept their distance for the rest of the tour. I suspected the captain was invoking his dominance, and that I was being shown off as a “trophy.” In any case, I was not bothered by unwanted attention on the Sipaktlantli again.

I spoke at length with the ship’s doctor, and was so grateful to be immersed again in my native language with another educated mind that I barely noticed the passage of time. Soon, dinner was served, and the conversation in the wardroom was fascinating, and I begged for all possible news from the homeland that did not include the war. The Sipaktlantli was only five weeks out of its home port, so the news was relatively fresh.

“How did you manage to find this place, Captain?” I asked at one point in the conversation. “I am glad that you did, but I never expected a ship from the SEOJ on the other side of the planet.”

“We saw your lights, Doctor,” he said with enthusiasm. “We are on a routine patrol mission – of course I can’t divulge the details, you understand – when the lookout spotted lights on the island. I had to investigate, of course. These islands are simply too primitive for such progressive technology. Savages, you understand. I should have known it was one of our own, bringing enlightenment to such a dark place.”

His attitude bothered me for a moment. These people were my friends, not savages. I was willing to let it pass.

We toasted the wonders of technology and scientific advancement, before getting to the real reason the captain wanted to speak with me. It turns out the captain was interested in my dental skills because he was experiencing some pain from a bad tooth. I said I would be happy to deal with his ailment, as soon as I could gather the proper tools and medications from the ship’s stores. Perhaps in the morning?

After dinner, I took in some fresh air on the deck. Night had fallen, and there were red lights around the ship that made it easier for the eyes to adjust to the darkness. I looked up at the night sky, hoping for my familiar view of the Milky Way and the ocean of stars. Alas, few stars were visible. There was a column of darkness that covered much of the sky. My eyes followed the black cloud across the vista to the little island.

A series of bonfires blazed where there once was a village. And my lights… I could see none of my electric lights.

The wheezing of the steam engine sounded like screams. No, that was not it. Screams of terrible pain. Voices I knew. The smell of palm wood smoke and seared flesh wafted to me on the wind.

Amina. My Amina. My heart and my life.

The husky little boy with the stick, Korfa. Eight short years had made him so tall, not a boy anymore.

The noble statesman Abdikarim. His lovely wife Oluneka, always the charming hostess. Eldest son Kinekeni, proud and strong, clearly fit to be chief someday. Second son Lonukala, the bookworm, who followed me around the island like a lost puppy, eager to learn all the science I could teach him. And the twins Kapala and Kenile, such giggle-bunnies when we met, that had grown to be such lovely young women.

So many others. I still cannot remember all their names. I keep trying. I will always keep trying.

The ship’s doctor came up behind me and said, “I have some ether, if you like. For the captain in the morning.”

I could not turn to face him. I had to hide my tears.

“Thank you, but I will not require anesthetic.”

Captain’s log. January 18, 1993 CY

The Seychelle Archipelago has apparently been annexed by the SEOJ. The council may want to consider sending a recon team to assess the strength of their forces there. I consider it a possibility that they might be using the islands as a military base of operations for assaults in the Indian Ocean or East Africa, possibly with an eye towards challenging the Ottomans for control of the Middle East oil reserves.

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