In the ribs of the other burning wagon, two white women swing swords at one of the Sangomin, one for the neck, the other for the leg, and both miss as he leap up in the air, level himself with the ground, then swing two swords that slice the white women down. The red ochre boy with razors for fingers slice and cut and chop and carve his way through four women, who explode blood and drop their swords before they realize they dead. He making his bloody way to Sogolon but taking his time, enjoying each kill. A fat boy with no legs but tree trunk hands that he use to run all over, knocking away some and smashing others into the ground like insects. And still the women in white fight. A mighty one run with a spear in hand, and hurl it right into the back of the tall man, white as stone. He stagger, choke, stiffen, and then crumble. Fire jumping to nearby trees and green grass turning red and redder. Three white women retreat to a tree, fighting back with dagger and sword the red ochre boy, who grow back a blade finger as soon as they chop one off. But from the top of the tree come scuttling down the spiderlike darkchild, who grab two by the neck and scoop them up. The third look up to see parts of one rain down on her. Then one red blade finger burst right through her throat.
See the girl run. See the girl look through tearblind eyes. Hide behind trees too thin and under ferns too low. Where to hide in open land? This is not the rain forest, but the rock hillside leading out of the valley. Nowhere to run but down, and skipping through rock that jut out to knock you down, and pop through the ground to cut up your feet and trip you. She try to skip down the side of the hill that fall away from the narrow trail, trying not to break her toe, break her legs, tumble all the way down. But she coming down too fast and can’t stop, her toe hit a rock that send her up in the air and she stay there for a blink before she fall and tumble, bump, and clack into a rock, and roll again, until she lie out in a field of tall grass. She lose the dagger. Blood run from a cut in her head into her eyes. Through them she see a black figure hopping through the leaves, the darkchild getting closer and closer. Sogolon first try to crawl but then try to rise on her feet, but her left foot won’t let her. She try to lie low and hobble away but on the third step a black hand grab her ankle and leap into the air with her. He let her hit the ground twice, to knock the dagger out of her hand and the wind out of her.
They all bend over looking at her, as she feel her back on the ground. Her head woozy and her right eye only seeing red, for when the darkchild is dragging her back up the hill, he don’t care what her back tear against or her head bang into. One saying to cut her up, while another saying that to burn her while she alive will send a sweet aroma of fear to the gods. Another say, Fuck your gods, we are the gods of this hill and valley now. Through one eye she see the fat ball of a boy yell and stomp toward the skinny one, the first she seeing him, and as the fat one swing his arm to knock him down the skinny one turn to mist, then switch back to flesh and knock the boy down so hard that he can’t stop rolling away. They all laugh, the Sangomin. Laugh so hard with each other that Sogolon limp to her feet and stagger away. One scream to catch her, but another say no, delight in his voice.
See the Sangomin hunt. See how they chase her. Up this narrow trail falling off on both sides there is nowhere to go but through the fire and wreckage and dead bodies and body parts scattered all over. She dodge out the way of a rolling wagon wheel, but don’t see the girl behind it, the girl whose skin won’t settle. The white rolling over her chest and breasts and legs and breaking up in spots all over the brown. The girl have a dagger in each hand as she step to Sogolon, who move back, step for step. As the girl step, the white in her pool into one whole half and start to push against the skin until another girl, white as an albino, pull herself from the brown girl, who now stalk Sogolon with four knives. The white one jump her and slam into this nothing between them that crunch her bones. The nothing, the wind (not wind), hit her in the face and twist hard and quick until her neck break. The white one fall to the ground as the brown one gasp. Before she even bawl, the wind (not wind) seize her up and slam her against the rocks until there is nothing to slam. Five hands of white stone grab her by the neck and throw her down. The tall man who just crumble. A white stone girl in the floating city flash through her head. Somebody with no form, taking form out of stone, in the shape of a long man. Sogolon roll and roll and roll until something stop her fall. The foot of the red boy with the razor fingers. You supposed to be seven, she mumble. A wicked smile rip across his face as his finger grow long and longer. Coming behind him, the fat boy stomping his hands, the skinny one made of air, and the darkchild hopping from rock to rock. Farther off the red and blue girl with the lizard tongue throw a dead woman onto a pile of white. The fat boy giggle, asking if they see what this one can do. This one special. This one almost like we.
“Nobody is like we,” say skinny one.
“Enough of this,” say razor finger and he move in to slash and cut.
It all happen too quick, her anger kicking away fear as she look at them all through her red eye. Wind ripple through her skin—she feeling it now—then her two eyes go red.
“What she doing? What sh—”
ELEVEN
See the dark pack in tight and crush her face. The dark squeeze her legs, squat in the cradle of her belly, and shove against her two arms that she cross against her chest in a burial pose. Like she is dead. Nobody tell her that death is just darkness, pressure, and waiting, but all three pushing against her head and pulling her right leg in a wrong way. She can’t remember what is the then before darkness, only now, and now is dark, dark, dark. The dark have a smell, like fire and bush and worms and mud and shit. And taste, spilling into her mouth, rock, worm, mud, shit. Her eyes can’t open. Won’t open. Her mouth can’t close. Won’t close. Her arms can’t swing, won’t swing. Her legs, where her left leg be? The right one hurting because it is bending the wrong way. Get out, girl, get out, whatever you name be, go go go go.
She twist her hands around and claw away clumps of dirt, claw and claw until the arms stretch and the dirt fall in the space it leave. She claw and kick and spit out dirt, and claw and kick and spit until her body is moving up, climbing up, sometimes rolling up, sometimes slipping sideways. Mud smear against her chest and rock scrape and cut her hip. And still she claw and claw and claw, up and up, dirt slipping all around her until her right hand grab a clump of wind. Then the left, then both pull her out of the ground and her head burst into the air, which rush into her so hard it nearly knock her back into the hole that she dig her way out of. Dirt stuck in the back of her throat make her cough, and terror make her shudder. Sogolon is crying when she pull herself out of the dirt, but the weak sun open her hazy eyes, and what she see stop it.