Twenty-nine
Evangeline’s surroundings blurred as Jonathan guided her past the guards posted outside Uncle Charles’s tent. She felt as if she was walking underwater. Her legs were sluggish and heavy. Every sound from the campsite was muffled—dogs barking, children playing, the blade of an ax biting into wood.
She struggled to catch her breath. Uncle Charles was a prisoner.
Maybe she and Jonathan were, too, only they wouldn’t find out until they reached their destination.
What if they were never allowed to leave?
Aunt Beatrice, Regina, Sophia… Her family wouldn’t know what happened to her or Uncle Charles.
And what would become of Jonathan? This was all her fault. She had insisted on searching for her uncle and taken Jonathan away from his work. Tears burned at the backs of her eyes.
Jonathan drew her closer to his side. “It’s overwhelming,” he murmured, “but I need you clear headed.”
She nodded.
“Evangeline.” He gave a small jerk to her hand, jarring her from her daze.
“I need you,” he whispered.
She nodded faintly, diverting her attention to their surroundings.
Each dusty tent looked the same. The flaps were tied back on several.
Some were empty. Others had napping children, often with their mothers close by tending campfires or mending clothes.
Some were closed off, but occupants could be heard in conversation. Sometimes there was laughter.
Just families, she reassured herself. They mean no harm.
Only the tales she had heard about the Semkari’s deadly reputation would frighten anyone.
They were apparitions—their activities fodder for ghost stories.
But maybe that was all strategy, like when the Vikings released a survivor after a raid, knowing he would run ahead to the next village, spreading his terror like a plague.
Often, when the Viking warriors arrived at the village, it would be empty. Everyone had already fled in fear.
In the far distance, there was a large tent surrounded by five guards, each with rifles. Munitions, she guessed. And a substantial amount. If gunpowder were to ignite, the fire wouldn’t reach the camp or occupants.
Their leader was away.
They had hunting parties patrolling the area.
It seemed the Semkari were preparing for battle.
And if they had more serious concerns than traveling performers who had lost their way, there was a chance she, Jonathan, and Uncle Charles could make it out alive.
They needed to convince Nekara that they were truly performers, though.
She glanced at Jonathan, praying his drumming was at least passable to support their story.
Menar stopped in front of a tent. “Here.”
Inside there was a slender woman with inky black hair that shimmered when she tilted her head. Her obsidian eyes lit when she saw Menar, her lips parted in surprise. They exchanged several words in their language, and Menar gestured to Evangeline.
“This is wife, Kiya,” he said. “You draw her now?”
Evangeline smiled. “I would be delighted, but I need my supplies.”
“Bath first,” Kiya said. “You look tired.”
“Oh! You speak English.”
“Some, yes.” She grabbed a long swath of cloth and a bar of soap. “Come.”
The men stepped aside when Kiya bustled for the exit.
Evangeline hurried to keep up. Discreetly, she sniffed under her arm to see if Kiya’s rush was justified.
Not horrible. But she probably looked like a mess after days on the road.
More likely, she was being swept away because they wanted to keep her and Jonathan separated.
She would do the same in their position.
They followed a rocky path that wound through overgrown oleander bushes tucked against boulders. Their pink blossoms swayed in the light breeze. In the distance, sunshine glinted off a creek, and as they drew closer, she spotted Timothy with two boys who looked like miniatures of Menar.
“Are those your sons?” Evangeline asked.
“They care for donkey.”
“Thank you. Truly.”
The woman glanced back at her. “No need thank you. You are guest.”
“I appreciate your hospitality all the same. May I express my gratitude with a drawing? I promised your husband a portrait of you, and I will draw your children if you like.”
Her expression softened as she watched her children playing. “Yes, I like.”
Evangeline quickly washed her face, arms, and legs without undressing, and they headed back to the camp with Kiya’s sons running ahead. She glanced back at Timothy, who seemed content to nibble grass along the bank.
The men were gone when they returned. She looked around for Jonathan, her heartbeat speeding up.
“Gavundi,” Kiya said.
Evangeline furrowed her brow.
“Men gavundi,” Kiya repeated and tapped her fingers against her thumb several times like it was a mouth.
“Talking?”
“Yes, tell big stories.”
“Ah, gossiping.”
Kiya shrugged and laughed.
Their belongings had been brought to Menar and Kiya’s tent, and Kiya informed her they would be staying with the family. They were definitely keeping her and Jonathan from speaking privately.
Her smile was tight as she thanked their hostess.
Kiya kept the boys out of the tent while Evangeline changed into a clean gown. When she returned with her sketchbook and charcoals, Kiya wanted her sons drawn first, which was quite a feat when they wanted to wrestle every few minutes.
Their mother would break up their scuffles and force them to sit, and Evangeline would race to capture their precious faces before another tussle ensued.
“Done,” Evangeline said and passed the drawing to their mother. Kiya’s eyes glimmered with tears as she studied it.
“Thank you for big gift.”
Evangeline’s cheeks heated with pleasure.
The boys dashed away as soon as their mother released them.
“Now it’s your turn,” Evangeline said.
Kiya blushed and shook her head.
“I promised Menar. Please, I would love to draw you. Why don’t you sit by the fire?”
Kiya did as directed. Sunlight fell over her, and she closed her eyes, lifting her face toward the warmth.
“Lovely,” Evangeline said, her hand already flying over the page. “Stay like that.”
Kiya was a much more cooperative subject, and Evangeline was pleased with the final results. Kiya gasped when she saw it and insisted Evangeline follow her as she showed it to her neighbors.
Evangeline basked under their praise, though she couldn’t understand their words, and she readily agreed to draw their families, too. Her charcoals were nearly gone, and the sun was setting when Kiya announced it was time to join the men at the feast.
On the way, Evangeline glanced sideways at Kiya. “May I ask a question?”
Kiya nodded.
“You speak English very well. How did you learn?”
The other woman laughed. “Menar. Nekara teach lower chiefs. He teach me.”
“Interesting. Do you know French, Spanish, or Italian?”
“Oui. Si. Si. Only little. Too Deutsch and al-Arabiyya.”
“Arabic?”
Kiya nodded.
“I’m impressed.”
Near the center of the camp, the sky glowed orange as sparks swirled into the air like fireflies.
In the clearing, a massive bonfire crackled, its heat chasing away the evening chill.
She spotted Jonathan on the other side of the fire.
He had also changed clothes and his frame drums were propped against the side of a tent.
He came to meet her. Menar was on his heels.
“The First Matron has invited us to join her table,” he said, holding out his arm.
She accepted his escort; her stomach filled with butterflies. The true test was coming.
Nekara gestured for them to sit across from her as they neared. Kiya approached to whisper in her ear. Nekara nodded, and Kiya sat beside her. With keen eyes, the First Matron regarded Evangeline across the table.
“My people are pleased with your drawings.”
Kiya smiled at her. Perhaps they had passed the first phase of Nekara’s test. Evangeline bowed her head in reverence.
“Thank you, First Matron. It was my pleasure.”
“Many of them will never have a portrait, and you have blessed them.”
Jonathan squeezed her hand beneath the table.
“I only hope my drawings do them justice,” she said.
Nekara reached for a fig from the long wooden platter in the middle of the table. “Eat,” she said. “We will have full bellies for your husband’s performance.”
Evangeline could barely swallow past the lump in her throat, but if Jonathan was nervous, he never showed it.
His hand was steady as he drank the wine, his voice friendly and strong as he answered Nekara’s questions and chatted with Menar.
Beneath the table, he held onto her hand, even as hers grew damp with worry.
At the end of the meal, he stood and helped her up, lifting her hand to his lips to graze a kiss across her knuckles.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I never meant—”
“Prepare to be delighted, Mrs. Hackberry.” He winked and left her clutching her hands at her waist.
Kiya sidled up to her. “Come sit.”
Evangeline allowed Kiya to guide her closer to the fire while her gaze stayed on Jonathan. He removed his shoes and strapped a wide string of tiny bells around his ankle, then gathered three of his drums.
Menar brought a three-legged wooden stool to the clearing in front of the fire. When Jonathan sat, he placed the largest frame drum between his calves so the smooth hide faced his audience. The mid-sized one was propped on his lap, the smallest abandoned for now.
He started slow with the mid-sized drum. His top hand lightly thumped the frame while the thumb of his lower hand struck the drumhead.
She held her breath, not daring to look around the crowd for fear someone would call them out for being frauds.
Then he dragged his finger down the drum, and she felt the low roar in her stomach.
He struck it several times—fingers spread, fingers together.
The rhythm built and so did the pounding of her heart.
He hit the drum held up by his legs. The sound was deeper, more ominous.
When he swept his knuckles over the drum, it hissed.
The energy of the crowd passed through her. They were all leaning forward, eager for what came next.
Jonathan kept the tempo, but each strike created a different sound. He repeated the sequence over and over. It was mesmerizing in its unique yet predictable sound. An older man stepped into the firelight, raising his voice in song. Slow, resonant. The minor key caused her to choke up.
She couldn’t understand the lyrics, but he was telling a story with his song. She glanced at the faces around her. Tears glistened in some eyes while others nodded slowly. When the last notes were sung and faded in the air, he grinned at Jonathan and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Happy now,” Menar called.
Jonathan launched into a rapid beat, tapping his foot and jingling the bells.
Sometimes the rhythm sounded chaotic yet in sync.
He tapped the drum from top to bottom, moving his fingers down the center to create different tones.
Two men came to sit near him cross-legged on the dirt.
One had two tiny drums that were connected, and the other cradled a goblet-shaped drum on his lap.
Jonathan set the larger drums aside and snatched up the smallest one.
While they played, he danced. Leg kicked back, twirl, drum smacked overhead.
He spun on his knees, coming closer to her.
She laughed from sheer surprise. He grinned and jumped to his feet, hitting the drum overhead again.
When he performed a series of jump spins and kicks, the crowd cheered.
At the end, Nekara stood, clapping. “Well done, drummer. Very well done.”
He bowed low, then walked toward Evangeline at the edge of the circle. Kiya complimented him on his performance as more musicians joined the drummers.
Three men and five women entered the circle with bamboo sticks and began to dance.
The women shimmied their hips before matching the men’s movements.
Hop, hop, hop. On one foot, the group turned in a circle with their canes raised overhead, then swung downward before gently tapping one end to the ground.
Soon, more people were dancing, laughing and jovial. Jonathan gestured to the group.
“Should we join them?”
Kiya nudged her. “Yes, dance with us.”
“Heavens, no! It would take all night to teach me.”
“Then let’s do a dance you know,” Jonathan said. “The Scottish reel?”
She chuckled. “I didn’t bring my dance card, but I believe I’m available.”
“Might I be so bold as to claim all of your dances this evening?”
“My, you are bold, sir. But I think a celebration is in order, don’t you?”
Perhaps because they had proven themselves, Kiya and Menar gave them space while they danced. The Semkari seemed amused by the Scottish reel, and some of the younger girls came to imitate them. Evangeline slowed down at times to demonstrate, and they picked up the dance quickly.