Entry #6

Dear Adan,

I am about to lay down for some rest. The night has been a long one. Dream like, not completely real. Father Alvarelo and I moved silently into the primary courtyard where I saw the boys from earlier. They were sleeping in the hay, and their boss was sitting by a lamp, practicing penmanship and smoke. We took our horses, hardly disturbing them. Father Alvarelo taught me how to saddle my creature in hushed tones, leaning close so he would not have to raise his voice and disturb the peaceful stable. He helped me up, and I gathered the reigns. He was soon settled on his horse, and we were traveling back down the hill.

The huts were very inactive, save for a few Tairona men who were gathered around fires stationed here and there between some of the abodes. They were speaking quietly, and drinking from big brown bottles. I am not sure what they were imbibing, but they seemed easy going and still, save for when their shoulders would shake with the occasional titter.

We returned to the stone path, the one from my dream, the one from earlier that day. In the dark the stones were invisible save for pale outlines. A half-moon up above broke through in stray white beams. The underbrush was alive all around us. There was much more commotion now than there was earlier today. Occasionally, a pair of glowing, slit eyes would dark between the leaves, followed by footfalls that would shrink into a fainter and fainter sound. There were no birds, and barely any light. The forest had transformed, and I rode closer to Father Alvarelo.

“Do not be afraid,” he said, sensing my trepidation. “The creatures of these woods have other game to hunt. In the years we have been here, we have only suffered one or two attacks. The Tairona have taught us how to live harmoniously with the most vicious of jaguars and voracious of serpents. If it were not for them, we would not have survived.”

“Will I be welcomed in the village, Father?”

“Nieve, you will be adopted. I have worked with these good people for a long time now, long enough to know their inclinations.”

This settled me, and I relaxed. My fingers were not as tense around the reigns, and as a result I like to think my horse was set at ease as well. He was not chomping at the bit so incessantly, and he clopped along beside Father Alvarelo’s steed with a bob to his head, his nostrils occasionally snorting.

“How long have the Tairona been here?”

“Very long. They believe this is the heart of the world, Nieve.” Our path was rising, and I noticed that mist had started to seep through the leaves in the canopy above our heads. “At the core of everything in this world, Nieve, is the Se, the spiritual realm.” The mist drew lower, plunging us into a thin fog. Again, I was inclined to ride closer to my guide. “There is life in everything, and the earth should be cared for as carefully as one would care for themselves.”

“The belief is a beautiful one.”

“Sounds familiar, do you think? They seem so exotic, so different from what we were taught. But, Nieve, I have noticed that our religions are all so similar. Remember that when you are teaching. Not that our beliefs are different, but that they are strangely uniform. Ah, here we are.”

Our uphill climb had brought us to a bridge that stretched across a sharp drop. Below I could hear the sounds of a river babbling and gossiping with rocks. This river cut through scattered, the leaves all whispering and twisting together in the occasional breeze. This was all I could make out, and no other specifics. The fog was so thick now, I had to squint to make out the hand Father Alvarelo had extended to me.

“Here. We need to go the rest of the way on foot. There is another path that would be safer for our horses, but this is the quickest way into the village, and - well - it has gotten rather late has it not?”

“I do not mind,” I confessed, and took his hand. He helped me out of the saddle, and made his way to the bridge. He had taken a few steps and noticed I was not following. I was making a meal of my lip, eying the structure warily. “This is quite safe?”

“Quite,” he held his hand out to me again, and I took it willingly. His grip was reassuring, and he led me across the bridge.

“Father?”

“Yes, Nieve.”

“Is the fog always this thick?”

The Father stopped, and turned around fully to face me. “Why, Nieve. We are in the clouds. This is the closest to heaven you will ever be, aside from your prayers.”

I smiled, I could not contain my laughter. This was beyond me. I had heard of high mountains and the adventurers who dared to climb them. I never thought I would be among them, able to reach out to the heaven’s filaments. We could not have been too high. One of the sailors said I went too high in the sierras I would be dizzy and faint. Granted, I felt a little funny, but perhaps that was the notion of how close to God I suddenly felt.

“Father, this is amazing.”

He reached to me, took my shoulder, and kissed my brow. “Dry your eyes,” he said, and continued across the bridge. “We are almost there!”

I was follow enthusiastically. We cleared the bridge in no time, walked a short, and winding path, and reached a village illuminated by bonfires. There huts were made of the same woven rooftops, reeds entwined in a rising twist. A group of men were seated around a smaller fire, their hands flowing and waving to one another conversationally. Their faces were studded with gold, there was feather working in their clothes, and they were pushing something into their mouth. They would work it into their cheek and start to chew. Their conversation ended at the sight of Father Alvarelo. They stood to meet us, and affectionately greeted the Father, all of them speaking snatches of Spanish and more of the sing-song language I had heard upon arriving at the mission.

Father Alvarelo laughed, and nodded before clapping me on the shoulder. “Hermana Nieve. This is Mama Gondu. He is one of the mamas here in the village.”

“Mamas?”

“They are high priests, probably the most important people here. They are the ones who let us build the mission.”

I bowed my head respectfully. “Please, tell him I am pleased to meet him.” I heard Mama Gondu chuckle after my translation, and he said something to Father Alvarelo, who laughed out right.

“He says he would like to hear about your journey, provided you can keep your chin up.”

I blushed deeply, but followed Mama Gondu as he waved me over to the fire. I took a seat beside Father Alvarelo, who served as my translator. I began to tell my story as they chewed and occasionally turned away to spit. The group soon grew, and my story had turned into a circle of tall tales and lore. Mama Gondu told the story of Kalashe and Nimaku, the lords of the trees, and the sentinels of the waters. How they came to be, and how they quarreled. Another man told a story about the sun, Mamatungwi, and the disastrous day it spent on Earth. Father Alvarello translated where he could, but sometimes a joke would catch him off guard and he would break into laughter instead. The sentiment was infectious, and soon the entire camp fire, and I am pretty sure those who were awake and had joined us in the village, were all fitful with stories and jokes.

When I thought I would tip over from exhaustion, Father Alvarelo excused us from the circle. Mama Gondu insisted he see us to the bridge. He was much shorter than Father Alvarelo, but about my height. His skin was dark, and the lines across his face reminded me of old stone, or the lines I could see in leaves when I held them to the sun. His hair fell in dark vines, and the cuffs of his trousers trailed like roots pulled from the Earth itself. He was truly a man of the soil here, with a gaze light and cloudy as the mist coiled around the bridge. He said something to Father Alvarelo, but he was smiling at me.

“He said you are welcomed. That you are invited, and would appreciate to see such a friendly face more often. He is holding a ceremony for a newly pregnant wife and her husband here soon, and would like you to attend, along with myself, and anyone else from the mission.” Father Alvarelo shook hands with the Mama, and they bowed to each other.

“Nothing would give me more pleasure,” and this translated to Mama Gondu made him clap his hands once and smile. He bid what I could only assume was a good night, and we were on our way back to the mission. So, having reached the very last reserve of my energy, I will finish this entry with the fondest good night of all, and the sweetest dreams to you my dear brother.