KRISTA RUSSELL her head the woman reminded him of a buzzard Her bony claws clutched at his pallet This here’s Phaedra Aunt Winnie said to Jem You’re going with her Going where His voice was a squeak What was she talking about Jem shook his head but couldn’t clear the confusion Are you coming he asked Jem didn’t like the look of the stranger He wouldn’t go anywhere with her unless Aunt Winnie came too Aunt Winnie spit into the darkness Never mind where I’ll be along later She grasped his chin Her fingers were warm and smelled of sassafras and pokeberry sharp but also soothing like Aunt Winnie herself Even in the shadowy light he could make out the dark red stain around her nails Promise me you’ll do as she says Jem glanced back at the younger woman Something glinted like cold steel in the opening of her cloak a silver medallion You must give me your vow Aunt Winnie raised his chin so she was looking deep into his eyes He stared back at her his resolve evaporating like morning mist over the Cooper River It was impossible to deny Aunt Winnie Though not his blood she was the closest thing to family he’d ever known She was also Charles Town’s most powerful conjure woman And Jem knew better than to resist the forces of conjuration I promise he whispered 2
Chapter One Spanish Florida October 13 1739 The fort was eerily quiet Shadows hung like phantoms in the dark reaches of the yard Most of the militia had gone to the Castillo de San Marco the large fortress in St Augustine A small group sat around the fire Big Sunday who’d been one of the first to escape to Florida had taken his usual place at the center of the gathering His half-Indian son Domingo had come from his village toting a string of fish he’d speared in the harbor Tell a tale about Brother Rabbit Jem said thinking of the story Aunt Winnie had told him the night he left Charles Town He’d puzzled over its meaning all the long months he’d been in Spanish Florida Which one Big Sunday asked He stoked the fire with a long stick releasing a swirl of fiery embers into the moon lit sky The one where he tricks Fox into leading him out of the Great Dismal Jem shivered at the images the swamp’s name
KRISTA RUSSELL conjured water the color of tobacco spit tree cover so thick it blocked all daylight and winding trails that led nowhere No telling what manner of wild beast lurked within Phaedra snorted We’d be better off if we’d gone to the Dismal instead of coming here Evenings at Fort Mose hadn’t been the same since Phae dra started sitting up late with the others She’d broken the magic of the circle ruined the spell of the stories There were almost a hundred people living at the fort and dozens used to come to listen to Big Sunday’s stories Now most retired early and those who stayed were quiet wary of Phaedra’s sharp tongue I’d rather face the English across a battlefield than live like an animal in the swamp Big Sunday said Phaedra grunted You think we’re any different from those critters in your stories No sir the Spanish got us stuck out here like rabbits in a trap Jem touched the blue beads Aunt Winnie had sewn onto his shirt He was glad he had them to protect him Brother Rabbit wouldn’t let himself get caught he said hoping Big Sunday would tell the tale Nobody asked you Make yourself useful and fetch my shawl Phaedra kept her eyes on the sweetgrass basket she was working on Her fingers snatched at the fronds again and again until each strip was bent and shaped to her will Jem left the fire and made his way across the yard toward the thatched hut where they slept But when he entered the dark chosa he stubbed his toe on a bedpost Hopping on his 4
The Other Side of Free other foot Jem fought the urge to cry out Phaedra was always going on about how clumsy he was Finally the pain became a dull throb He dropped to his knees and drew a circle in the dirt Through the middle he marked an X He spit onto the center and walked slowly around the circle Sat isfied he’d countered the bad luck Jem smoothed the dirt and crept carefully around the gloomy hut until he found Phaedra’s shawl Took you long enough she said when he returned to the fire You get lost Someone laughed Jem scanned the faces but couldn’t tell who He decided to ignore Phaedra’s remark Keeping his eyes on the ground he went back to his whittling But it was as though the whistle were made of straw His knife sliced too deeply into the stick breaking it in half He threw the remnants into the fire and watched them catch and burn A twig snapped outside the circle and Shadrack stepped into the light Something out there he announced Shadrack was the oldest of the escaped slaves who’d made their way south to freedom Maroons the Spanish called them The old man slept in the woods beside the kiln where he burned the wood to make the charcoal needed to forge weapons for the militia But he came to Fort Mose for meals He wore brown trousers and a tunic turned gray from soot His watery eyes seemed unnaturally wide likely because his lashes and brows had been singed off so many times they’d given up growing back What’d you see Big Sunday barked the rich cadence of his storytelling voice gone like smoke 5
