Cursed [Book 1] ✔

Chapter 9: Draw the Curtain Back

Being an anthropology major, reading the diary of my long-lost ancestor was a high point. Not all of the passages interested me though. The first few entries detailing Juan Ortiz's life ashore the New World were compelling, not to mention sad as all hell:

1539

Now that de Soto has found me and outfitted me with supplies considered luxuries in this place, I can transcribe my odd tale to anyone who would dare read it.

This story began so long ago that I hope I can recount it accurately.

I sailed to these beautiful but unforgiving lands on the pretense of the Narvaez-led expedition, a conquest which failed due to bad weather. After our ship effectively sank, I was washed ashore. I scavenged or a few weeks, lingering near the beach in the event my crew survived. Fresh water was scarce, thus I moved further inland. Within a day, I stumbled upon two dark-skinned maidens clad in nothing more than flower necklaces and doe-skin skirts. They were beautiful, and terrified at the sight of me.

Not only did my clothes and skin color distress them, but I was near starving. My body was thin, barely able to support the weight of my raven hair and tangled beard.

Even though the language barrier made communication impossible, I managed to peaceful intentions. Eventually, it was agreed through various nods and gestures that I could follow on to their camp.

However, I was not greeted hospitably. A man I gathered to be the chieftain ordered my seizure, upon which I was bound and gagged. In my prisoner's tent, I discovered some happiness when one of the maidens from before brought me food, drink, and a clay basin of water to wash with. As my hands were bound, she kindly cleaned the dirt from my neglected body. She was not disgusted, choosing instead to marvel over our difference in skin tone. In my ear, she whispered I could not understand. Now, I can guess at what she said:

"You are like a god."

~*~

Weeks after my capture, the chieftain deduced that no more of "my kind" might arrive, and therefore I was no longer an immediate danger. Still, he thought me valuable enough to keep around, but not trustworthy enough to wander as I pleased. I was assigned to guard the tent of human sacrifices, thankful I was not among those poor souls.

The Natives worshipped a female deity they called Lamashtu. She was their night Mary, because she visited in their dreams, or more often, in their nightmares. It was also said of Lamashtu that she held sway over pregnant women and children, feasting on their blood.

As a devout Christian, their Goddess seemed much too destructive for me, but I was in no position to voice my opinion.

What largely concerned me was my deep affection for the woman who had cared for me. We had gotten close, intimately so. Through body language, she revealed she was with child. Impregnating a Native without permission was a punishable offense. When that Native turned out to be the chieftain's only daughter, there was no punishment, only death.

~*~

At nine months pregnant, the chieftain's daughter refused to inform her father of the man responsible for her condition. All eyes looked to the outsider, of course.

Somehow, she knew her father planned to use me as a sacrifice. My love woke me in the night with a plan to flee to a nearby tribe that would accept outsiders peaceably. While there, she birthed our son, and for a time, we were foolish enough to believe we could live our lives without repercussions.

One of the native Morcoso, who thought me a white demon, betrayed out whereabouts to the Uzita. Before the chieftain sent for us, we hid our young son away. My wife warned me of the impending capture, forcing me to promise to care for our son always. She also forced me to resist following her if anything happened; "It's the end for me," she kept repeating.

Our fears were fulfilled when a group of Uzita guards marched to the camp, scouring each tent for us. Bravely, we tried to fight off our captors, but only I was successful. My love was dragged back to her father. As hard as it was, I did not follow my wife. She was in a hostile camp, and I had our son. It was a decision I now regret.

Gradually, I realized that if the chieftain would not use me as his sacrifice, then he would use the other who had betrayed him: his daughter.

~*~

Life passed slowly for my son and me. He missed his mother, and I missed my wife. We went about living as best we could.

Our lives changed dramatically when Hernando de Soto arrived in 1539.

At first, he did not recognize me, as I had integrated into Morcoso society. My hair was long, and braided back, as is their fashion. I was dressed in doe-skin, and tattoos adorned my newly tanned skin. The only way de Soto was able to set me apart was by my beard. I was the only man in the village who had facial hair. It seemed to be a genetic trait the Natives lacked. They even looked down upon me for my bearded visage, even though I had no control over it.

"Ortiz?" de Soto approached me hesitantly.

"Yes, it is me." Spanish felt alien on my tongue, but I had no trouble remembering the words.

De Soto noticed my son fashioning arrow flints for our hunt. "You have been living well."

"My wife is dead," I said simply.

He extended the proper condolences, taking me aside to regale me with the details of his journey, including the other tribes he had encountered. One tribe in particular disturbed him, with their savage manner and penchant for bloody rites. He could only be describing one tribe in the area.

"You are speaking of the Uzita," I said.

A light flashed in his eyes, and I sensed he was to ask a favor of me. First, he desired all the details of my failed expedition, capture, and time in the villages. When he learned I had knowledge of the Uzita tribe, he asked if I would accompany him as a translator. He wished to trade supplies, and I could facilitate a quicker, fairer exchange.

"Why not trade for supplies here?" I asked.

"They do not have what I need," he said vaguely.

He was lying. I would find out why later.

~*~