A History Lesson part 2

Alysa came down stairs and sat at the kitchen table and was surprised to see that Delroy had set up breakfast for the two of them. It was only a couple bowls of Cheerios and some coffee, but she appreciated her father putting forth the effort. It reminded her of living with her mother. It was nice to have someone looking after her.

“I don’t know if you drink coffee,” Delroy told her.

“I’m starting to,” she sat down, “Thanks, Dad.”

They paused a moment. While she hadn’t called him Delroy (nor had she referred to him by anything other than ‘you’), she never called him Dad. It was a reflex and as neither one protested, there was another silent agreement.

“How’d you sleep?,” he asked.

“Better than the past few days,” she answered, “I had to crash on Creed’s couch for a while.”

“Creed is the guy you’re working for?”

“Yeah, it’s one of my jobs. We’re PIs.”

“And you track down missing people and things?”

“Sometimes, but most of the time, it’s weird shit. I mean, I think you know Winghaven well enough to know that there’s all kinds of monsters and everything.”

Delroy stared at her blankly, “And you go after those monsters?”

“Yeah, most of the time,” Alysa poured milk into her cereal and didn’t notice the reaction.

“You fight them directly?”

“Yeah, I mean, that’s kinda why Mom wanted me to be a priestess,” she shrugged, “I needed to learn magic to fight, `cus my little ass can’t do much else.”

“Isn’t it dangerous?”

“Well, yeah, it’s vampires and things like that,” she casually sloshed through her cereal with a spoon, “But like I said, that’s just the one job. I think you know I’m in the Comission, so sometimes I’m fighting bad guys with them instead of Creed. So like, I had to fight the Second Phase right before Christmas, right? It’s just what I do sometimes.”

“The Second Phase are terrorists,” Delroy seemed to grow more alarmed, “As in metahuman terrorists.”

“Cyborgs, yeah. Real creepy, too,” she took a spoonful of cereal before speaking again, “There’s this one guy who has a thing for my friend, Astra. It’s like he either wants to get with or he’s jealous that she’s mechanical and he ain’t… Oh, Astra’s not human, by the way. I think you seen her on the news? Astra Machina?”

“The robot girl?”

“Yeah, we’re real good friends. She’s so funny.”

“The robot girl’s funny?”

“Oh my god, yes!”

“And this is all a side job?”

“Yeah, Ryan Bennings pays pretty well, even if he is kinda annoying. I’m also on the team with the Cavalier and that’s kinda crazy to think about. And there’s an alien, which I wasn’t cool about at first but he’s alright. There’s also this really quiet assassin chick from the IMD who -” she looked up and finally noticed her father’s bulging eyes. She realized that, between her mother, Creed, and the Commission, she never had any close adult mentors in her life that weren’t involved in the paranormal in some way, so she wasn’t used to having a filter when speaking to an older person. Her father was the only normal one she was moderately close to and she didn’t know how to deal with his reaction other than to change the subject.

“So I read most of the chapter you gave me last night,” she told him before taking another bite of cereal.

“And?”

She finished chewing before answering, “I knew a lot of the information, honestly. Obeah and Baracoa led a slave revolt and took over a ship. They snuck on to shore and tried to free slaves and live underground,” she took a spoonful of her cereal again and in her haste, spoke while some food was still in her mouth, “But I was surprised to see that you interviewed people who used to belong to the Iconoclast sect.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. I figured they didn’t let people leave.”

“There are very violent members, no doubt, but most temples allow their members to leave at any time.”

“And they’re allowed to just talk to people?”

“Of course. I talked to at least one practicing Iconoclast. I met a scholar who let me read some of their historical writings.”

“I didn’t know they wrote anything.”

“They don’t like modern technology but that doesn’t mean they don’t write things down or even make copies using techniques that predate the printing press. Obviously, you won’t see their literature at Barnes and Noble but they do write.”

“Huh,” she brushed him off a bit, “Anyway, I didn’t finish the chapter but I will.”

“Good. Maybe it’ll give you some insight.”

****

Reaching land was difficult since, if they arrived at a populated harbor, they would draw unwanted attention. They had the captured crew direct them to an uninhabited beach and grounded the ship in shallow water in a country they knew nothing about. From there, they quickly exited through small waves and disappeared, carrying anything they could. The British sailors escaped their chains some time later and found their way to the French colonies where they had trouble explaining their situation, so it took quite a while until the British colonies were alerted. After a great deal of bureaucracy, a French militia was sent to find the runaways and return them to the British.

As for the former slaves, they set up a small settlement. Baracoa was good with firearms and Western tools after having plenty of time to study them. After he stole some rifles and pistols from the traders, he learned how to use them and even trained some of their followers. Meanwhile, Obeah focused on forming their own settlement using the tents and other goods they found onboard the ship.

In the coming weeks, Baracoa and Obeah focused on magic and relearning what they had forgotten. They would sing and write poems, but they were always vigilant that no one would find them. It was after the first month when Baracoa and some of his men found a settlement. They were hunting in the early hours, far past the woods when they arrived on the hill overlooking a few farmsteads. They could see houses next to wide fields and in the distance, it appeared a religious building or perhaps a school was being constructed. As they watched, they noticed the slaves going out to the fields to work. “We’ve seen all we need to see,” Baracoa told his men and they quickly made their way back.

“It isn’t our village,” Baracoa later told Obeah, “But I think it’s our duty to free them. We were slaves once and I don’t want anyone else to suffer the same fate.”

“I share your concern,” Obeah explained, “Of course, helping them might bring attention to our home.”

“The colonists will find us one way or another,” he told her, “I promise, we’ll have to fight eventually. I’d rather fight now because I did the right thing rather than fight later while hiding.”

“That’s fair. We can protect them but a situation like this requires wisdom. If we go to the colonists’ village, we must be careful and plan accordingly. Additionally, they’ll be coming after us post-haste, which means we’ll have to pack up sooner and leave.”

“I agree.”

The next day, the scholars gathered the ingredients for a specific concoction and placed them in a large cauldron. Stalking through the woods at night, they made their way to the farmsteads. A quick spell from Obeah boiled the concoction and smaller pots were placed on open window sills. The steam wafted into bedrooms, ensuring the residents remained in a deep sleep while Baracoa and his men searched for the slave house.

The door was locked from the outside so it was easy enough to open. The male slaves stirred and braced themselves for an attack. While not all the men were Haitian, many of them spoke enough French that Baracoa and his men could explain the situation to them. “There are women in the houses,” one of the men explained, “We have to get them outta there.” Soon, Baracoa and his men were going from house to house, rousing the women and leading them outside, confident that the rest of the house was still under a spell.

By sunrise, they had packed everything up and left without leaving a trace. In the morning, the farmers realized their slaves were gone and a manhunt quickly formed. As they searched the area over the next few days, they came into contact with the militia organized to capture the runaways.

Over the course of next three months, the former slaves acclimated to Iseda society with many of them converting to the religion. Meanwhile, Baracoa began teaching the former slaves how to use firearms.

“The rifles need powder and bullets to work,” Obeah warned, “We’ll run out soon.”

“We can take more from the dead colonists when they arrive,” he answered.

“I’d rather not have to use them at all,” she answered back and then reminded him of one of the Iseda tenants, “If we take a life, we must give a life.” According to most accounts, Obeah was increasingly concerned about Baracoa’s rage. There were good reasons to be mad but she feared his rage might consume him.

It was autumn when the colonists finally caught up to them. The Iseda followers saw them coming over the hills and they quickly got into position. Mothers and the elderly went ahead with their children while younger men and women readied their weapons. Soon, thunderclaps rolled over the hills, puffs of smoke rose into the air, and several of their people were hit. Baracoa and his men returned fire with more thunderclaps echoing in the valley. Some of the soldiers rolled down the hill after the return volley and both sides quickly began reloading their muskets. Moments later, a bright light shone in the sky, accompanied by an ear-splitting sound. The report from the French soldiers claimed the sun was in their eyes but in reality, it was Queen Obeah’s spell.

The distraction allowed the freed slaves to shoot down more of their enemies and escape. They won the battle, but they were forced to abandon their tents and most of their supplies. They fled into the woods with little shelter and made-do with what they had left.

Fearing the chill of winter, they searched for a village to gather supplies but all Baracoa found was a single homestead. Obeah came along this time to assess the situation and they squatted among the trees with their people waiting patiently behind them.

“It’s a small home but we should be able to get most of what we need,” Baracoa told her in a hushed voice.

“Indeed,” she answered, “We’ll wait until dark.”

“I doubt they’re much of a threat.”

“So do I, but we should avoid conflict when we can.”

Baracoa began to speak but the words were lost as something caught his attention. Obeah looked at him curiously and followed his line of sight, slowly turning around until she noticed the little boy staring at them.

It was obvious that he was from the little wooden house in the distance. He was no older than six and likely didn’t understand the situation but if he told anyone in the house about what he saw, they could potentially alert local authorities before any goods could be taken.

Slowly, Baracoa raised the rifle in his hand. Everyone held their breath. His finger inched toward the trigger and before he could squeeze, Obeah snatched the barrel.

“What do you think you’re doing?,” she asked in a raspy whisper.

“He’ll tell the others,” he whispered back.

“So we leave.”

“He’ll grow up to be one of them!,” Baracoa snapped, no longer caring to whisper.

“Perhaps, but we’ll deal with him if the situation occurs,” Obeah stopped, “We can protect ourselves, but we must never harm children.”

“They would harm our children!”

“Our values have nothing to do with with them.”

He shook his head, “Their actions affect us, sister, regardless of whether or not we distance ourselves.”

Baracoa threw his shoulder forward, shaking the priestess loose. He made a desperate move to fire his rifle one more time but Obeah placed a hand on the rifle and it began to glow. Baracoa was forced to drop it as it heated up and the boy finally became aware of the danger enough to run back to the house. “Papa!,” he shouted as he disappeared inside.

Baracoa glared at the priestess, “If this results in death, it’s on your head,” he roared.

“You are letting your hate cloud your judgement.”

“And your naivety puts everyone in danger.”

Baracoa raised a hand and fire ignited around his fist, ready to attack. “Either you’re an enemy or an ally, sister,” he roared, “Make a choice.”

“Brother, please stop,” one of the men pleaded.

“He’s right,” another shouted back, “We can’t afford mercy in this situation.”

“Please reconsider your next action,” Obeah told Baracoa sadly as she raised a fist.

“I have.”

He brought his hand down, ready to release the flames, but Obeah was faster. When her palm opened, a concussive blast followed. Baracoa’s chest exploded in a shower of blood and bone, his dead body dropping before the smoke settled.

“Witch!,” one of Baracoa’s followers shouted as he raised his rifle. Obeah’s followers crowded around in defense and there was a stand off in the woods. Guns and knives were raised with a purpose and both sides silently dared the other side to strike first. They were moments away from fighting amongst themselves and it was only a matter of time before the Colonists found them in the woods.

“We’ll leave,” Obeah said quickly, cutting through the tension, “Please, just let us take our leave and you won’t have to worry about us again.” She wanted desperately to avoid anymore bloodshed and she hoped the dire situation would force all parties to vacate the area. In the distance, adult men left the house and began racing toward the woods. There was no time for fighting. Baracoa’s followers quickly took his body and left in one direction and Obeah mournfully led her followers in the opposite direction.

****

Alysa finished reading the chapter. She had heard about Obeah killing Baracoa before. The people in her temple spoke highly of her and her work freeing slaves for many years while Baracoa was a footnote. She had a vague understanding that there were early temples and scholars who vilified Queen Obeah and praised Baracoa’s stances. She always assumed the Iconoclasts were the ones who sided with Baracoa. He was an angry man who encouraged his followers to remain isolationists, which she associated with Iconoclastic teachings.

What was alarming was that, according to her father’s research, the Iconoclast movement actually spawned from Queen Obeah’s teachings. When the schism happened, early 20th century Iconoclasts went on record praising her peaceful and pragmatic philosophy in contrast to the “criminal behavior of the Reformers”. Meanwhile, the early Reformers were more closely aligned with Baracoa. The earliest works of Iseda followers who called themselves Reformers praised Baracoa for taking up arms while claiming that Obeah was a hypocrite and a murderer. Some of them even mentioned “Iconoclast naivety” as a reason to fight them.

There was an entire era that was largely a mystery to her.

Continued…