Winds of Fate [Books I-III]

Chapter 133: The Priestess

Amidst the pounding of the hammer on wood, tinkles resound from the wind chimes serving as the curtains of the tiny hut. A cool breeze blows from the Caribbean Sea, but with every pull of the wind, the hairs on her arm stand up. Esté narrows her eyes at the gray skies and swivels around.

"Oui?"

She startles.

The young boy who had been making final repairs on her new boat raises both brows.

Esté shakes her head. "Non, non." She feels for her pockets and takes out two escudos. "I remember asking for a simple one?" She asks. "See, I am just one person. This... boat... fits—"

"Seven to eight people!"

What will I do with seven to eight people? Esté sighs. "Tell Tutu I cannot accept such a gift," she softly says, flicking her hand toward the boat with her bracelets clinking. "I paid for three people at most."

"Eh." The young boy scowls. "I don't wanna drag it down the beach again, Mambo!"

"Lazy boy! No! Tell Tutu priestesses don't need such luxuries—"

Mambo.

A voice slips into her thoughts. Esté stops herself and raises her hand to halt the boy from speaking. She closes her eyes. Vini, Mambo, vini.

Come, Mambo, come.

Epi... aksepte bato sa tanpri.

And accept that boat, please.

Esté stiffens and draws a deep breath. That old, weary but kind voice beckons, clear as day. She turns to the boy. "Tré byen." Sighing, she pours more silvers in the boys' hands. "Ale ou ale. Bay Tutu lanmou mwen, wi?"

They say their farewells, and Esté immediately ducks inside her hut, parting the curtain chimes with her trembling hands. In this gray afternoon, desolate shadows swathe the altar, the rug, leaving only the edges of their silhouettes conceivable... except for a faint smoke from the right, that turns into a stream of light and air, with the smell of crumbling dust, age old cigars, and a tinge of the odd sweetness of honey.

Her heart stops. Esté drops to her knees and closes her eyes.

A single tap echoes in the hut, and the smoke wraps around this to reveal the wooden staff that has the power to lift the veils between the worlds. Once every white tendril of light and smoke clears, the old bent Loa emerges from the shadows in his usual yellow robe.

"Arise, mambo." Papa Legba smiles and reaches out a hand. Esté takes it, but still averts her eyes out of fear and reverence. In doing so, she misses how the Loa sighs deeply and looks away. "The future is coming too fast for us to change it significantly."

Esté straightens up. "Is the bohique—"

"No, no." Papa Legba shakes his head. "I cannot reveal the immediate future to you. But... yes... the bohique and her allies are all in danger." After a brief pause, the Loa continues, "Not only is the Sea-Devil here, Mambo."

The Vodun priestess frowns. "What do you mean, Papa?"

"He has another ancient spirit, in disguise as a mortal. We could feel their imprints on the roads."

Another Ancient One. Esté rubs her temple. While the captain is a mere child—an apprentice at best and a novice priestess at worst.

"But that's not all."

"There is more?"

Papa Legba presses his lips to a line and nods, leaning onto his staff. "Mortals, forming an equally vicious and legitimate threat."