Chapter 5: Revised

This is one of the new chapters. Now, a little down the line, I like the idea of bringing some different perspectives into the story. Originally, beyond NaNo WriMo, I saw this being a book that came across as a series of collected documents. Diaries, letters, essays, etc. I'm a stickler for character study, so I saw this sort of approach as being a great way to work on the character development I so wanted to focus on during NaNo WriMo, but couldn't. Not only did I want to give other characters a chance to chime in, but I also saw this idea as a chance to play with 1st person, 3rd person, maybe that person over there.

So is 2nd Person. P.S. How many grammar Nazis are going psycho right now?

So, in a few chapters, there may be some writing exercises that fit in chronologically with what's going on in the story. Sometimes they will be focused on Nieve, sometimes they will be from the POV of another character interacting with Nieve, sometimes they will have a connection to her. With this idea of the book being a series of documents, I want the reader to feel included, like they are the ones who are piecing together this lost event. Once the second draft is over, these writing exercises will be integrated much more seamlessly into the overall novel.

The Anchoress as it was meant to be.

However, that is not what is happening with this post here. As I started out on this second draft, I wanted to add more chapters. Since the NaNo WriMo schedule was so specific and fast, I did not have a lot of time to get in all the installments I wanted on the first run. Characters like Captain Alejandro Gonzalez and Olvida were relegated to much smaller parts, and as a result, in the first draft, they pop in and out of the book very willy-nilly, and I don't like that... except that it gives me the chance to say "willy-nilly". Elias was another character that suffered this fate in the first draft.

So, in this chapter, I finally got to give Alejandro and Olvida the introduction they deserved.

5

Adan, I have just finished my tour of such a stately manor!

Did you know Captain Alejandro had his manor built floor to roof? Oh, everything from the shadowy, cool wine cellar to the fine stonework of the sun-soaking shingles. He even helped the Tairona who built it. Such labor aside, he must have had a wonderful builder on hand. Perhaps from the Yucatan. What a strong and resourceful man! I was captivated by the history of his home. Built by Tairona hands, influenced by his late father’s estate back in the Spanish countryside. As Captain Alejandro gave us the grand tour, I could not tame my straying eye.

I peered closely at his wife, the lovely Olvida. A silent smile was always on her face, and occasionally she would stop and whisper something to Tairona servants in Western clothes. For the most part, she was attentive to the husband giving us a tour of the home she already knew every corner of. She was the lady of the house after all! There was something about her, Adan. I could not place my finger upon it. Just an odd feeling I had from her. For though she stepped smoothly with a fine posture, much like a dancer, I still found her shoulders tense, her face tight. Her hands had a way of clenching close together in front of her, the way one might hold onto a stairwell’s banister to keep from tumbling.

Once we returned to the foyer, which in this case was a long main corridor with rivers of hardwood floor leading off to other rooms, a servant was waiting for the Captain. On his right was a soldier, a man I did not recognize. He had broad shoulders, his appearance was sharp as the blade at his hip. He inspected those he did not recognize, namely Carmen and myself, with an untrusting and even contemptuous disposition. Those eyes were intelligent, and light in color, like yellow stained glass. Instantly, I did not feel welcome. Captain Alejandro’s smile was little comfort to me.

“Excuse me, but I must meet with this young man.” His eyes slanted to Olvida, who took the tour over with a graceful smile and polite flourish.

“Please,” she said in a beautifully alto voice, “follow me, we will have our discussions in the sitting room.” As we made our way past Olvida, as Captain Alejandro met the soldier with a letter in his hand, I heard Olvida add in a soft whisper: “Not too long, husband.”

As far as I could tell, he did not answer.

Then again, we had already moved further on.

We were in the sitting room, Adan, I am not sure how long. Olvida was gracious in this period though. Asking Carmen and I about “home”, and about our trip. Seeing Olvida with Spanish landscape paintings behind her, I had the impression she was as homesick as my traveling companion. I saw a moment for Carmen to connect to someone of her own nostalgia, and kept my answers brief to give Carmen all the room she needed to reminisce with the lady of the house.

“We do appreciate your hospitality, Signora Alejandro,” Padre Alvarelo remarked, his two hands pressed earnestly together as he smiled. “I know the notice is so short - ”

“Please, I would rather you here in my husband’s den then in some predator’s,” her smile was toothy, the lips spread awkwardly, as if her cheeks were suddenly unaccustomed to such behavior. Odd, considering how well she beamed only moments ago. “The jungle can be dangerous at night, I much prefer you here. You are always welcome in my home,” she eyed Captain Alejandro as he entered. “In our home,” she rose from her chair by the fire, and the captain took the seat. A servant came to collect the remainder of our impromptu tea time. Captain Alejandro smiled distractedly as he tapped a letter on his knuckles.

“A letter from the mission, Captain?” Padre Alvarelo questioned curiously.

Captain Alejandro, who had seemed so removed from reality, returned with a quick blink. “Yes,” he folded the letter. “They are well, I am visiting tomorrow,” and the letter was squirreled away into his pocket. Padre Alvarelo nodded up, but his chin hovered, unsure of whether or not to commit to the agreeable motion. He seemed unsure of this latest event. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“It is no trouble, husband,” Olvida said.

Again, I felt out of place and the sudden urge to leap out one of the windows seized me.

Captain Alejandro clapped his hands. “Shall we to dinner then? After riding all day, I can only assume you could use a good meal.”

And a good meal we had! Though Carmen and I enjoyed a simple feast of soup, bread, and milk, our host still presented us with a parade of food. They were pushed around our table in separate carts by Tairona servant women. Riding these carts were rich dishes of roasted pork and chickens, grilled fruit and potatoes, buttery bread and flat white tortillas dotted with brown dots and deflated air bubbles. There was wine, milk, and liquor, rattling away on one of these carts that circled us throughout the meal. I had not come to mind such delicious food in my presence, but Carmen, I know, was another story. Before she had entered the cloister she had come from a particularly noble family. Fine foods were the normal in her home. Now that her diet was much simpler, she often found such murals of food, like this one, somewhat offensive.

Captain Alejandro was neck-deep in a monologue about the importance of exploring the jungle. He was very passionate about -

“Moving! What we need to do is keep moving. We need to push further into the jungle. Expand Spain’s territories.”

And finally, a very contained Padre Alvarelo carefully leaked his opinion. There was an air of familiarity there, though. Perhaps they had had this conversation before. “But we have expanded Spain’s territories. The heart of Spain beats in the Yucatan, and each beat reaches us all the way here. And all the way up the Amazon, and through the southern peninsulas. Should it push further, the strength of such a beat would diminish. Thin and peter out.”

“More land for Spain is more strength for Spain. She is a muscle that must be challenged. How else can she grow?”

“The foundations furthest from the Yucatan are what need strengthening-”

“I agree, that’s what you have us for,” Captain Alejandro’s smile was a predator's, every tooth pronounced and glistening in the fluttering light of the candelabras.

This was not Padre Alvarelo’s point though, he had been interrupted, so he pressed on as if the captain had said nothing. “But to press past this point would snap such expansion. We would collapse.”

Captain Alejandro leaned over his dinner, planted his elbows onto the table as if he were claiming land. “Our king is strong. Our capital in the Yucatan is thriving. Our military is more than capable, it is in its prime. Colonization and missions have also settled the natives. Such foundations are enough to support further territories.” He had filed his points off across the tips of his fingers, and for a moment all Padre Alvarelo could do was stare as the captain worked his jaw to finish off the morsel in his mouth.

“You remember what happened to the Jesuits on the Amazon - ”

Captain Alejandro burst into laughter. “What is a Franciscan concerning himself over a Jesuit for?”

“If this is for Spain, this is for all of us. So all of us must be considered.”

The Captain took a deep breath, Olvida went to hold his hand, but he sat back, and met Padre Alvarelo‘s expectant gaze. What the padre was expecting, I could not say. Captain Alejandro cleared his throat, he forced a smile. Carmen and I remained silent. This was a whole different world of conversation, one we could not dare to enter and explore, not on our first day in Santa Marta. We could only watch. Captain Alejandro stood, wiping his mouth.

“I heard they need more politicians in Yucatan. Perhaps you would make an appropriate candidate.”

“My place is with God, Captain, I merely suggest,” he was interrupted.

“Then stay in his place,” the Captain was off for the door, the heels of his boots clapped sharply against the hardwood floor. “Good evening to you all,” he closed the doors behind him, the slam echoed through the silent room. Olvida looked at the place her husband’s hand had been. She drew her own two together, and smiled warmly to us all.

“My husband has been stressed, and I know you have had a long day. Perhaps some tea before we retire to the rest we have all so rightfully earned.”

But I did not sleep for long, Adan. Carmen and I hit our pillows like heavy sacks of grain. We shared a bed, but this was hardly a problem. I think Carmen could have been jumping up and down and I would still fall asleep. Our covers and sheets were thin, the heat no longer bothered us as we drifted off. Carmen shifted to get comfortable only a couple times before she sighed to sleep. I soon followed her. Starlight and moonlight mixed in the sky and poured through our window. The only sounds I heard were the creeks and draft of an unfamiliar house. I anticipated dreams as I nestled into my pillow and shut my eyes.

I was not sure how long I had been sleeping. It could not have been long, Adan. The sky outside seemed so unchanged. The house was still and silent, save for a mewling that only now had reached my ears. My first thought was that this rattling, high pitched sound belonged to a sickly cat. I sat up slowly from my pillow, I clutched the edge of my cover as silence overcame the house once more. Just as I was about to sink once more to the bed, the howling began again. This time louder, this time clearer. At this point, I knew this was no animal’s cry. The screams were a baby’s.

My heart beat in my chest, and a nervous pang suddenly churned in my stomach. Though a cold sweat had broken out, my mouth had gone suddenly dry. This was no cry for milk or comfort, these screams were something helpless, lonely, and afraid. I turned to Carmen, I took her shoulder.

“Carmen,” I whispered, I meant to speak louder than this. “Carmen, wake up,” I shook her, and she groaned.

“No…” Carmen waved blindly at me, but I caught her hand.

“Please, wake up,” I held her hand close to my cheek, I was so afraid. “I hear something.”

“It is like a new house, of course you hear something. It’s nothing. Please, Nieve, I am so tired.” Carmen drew the covers around her tightly, and that was that. There was no disturbing her further. I chewed my lip, and realized I would have to venture out on my own. No one else was, Adan, I had to.

The house was so different now. During the day it was colorful, and the walls and floors were gilded with sunlight. There was so much noise earlier today; footsteps, conversation, racket echoing from an unseen kitchen, whinnies from the horses in the stable outside. Now? There was nothing to accompany me except the baby’s bellow. Was I truly the only one moving through the sleeping household to find this child? Surely, I would run into Olvida or one of the Tairona women in no time. At least then I would not be so alone.

But the more I searched, the lonelier I felt. I knew by now that no one else was coming. It was just me, and such solitude was gut wrenching. I was truly afraid, Adan, but I had to find this baby. I went down the stairs, through the hallways, through the rooms I had seen in daylight earlier. It was not until I made it to the front of the house that the screams grew louder. The squealing was coming from the dining room, I knew it now! I pushed open the double doors leading inside.

The room was immaculate, the table was sparse and uncovered with the chairs tucked in. The bawling was at its loudest here in the dining room, a chamber spacious enough, but still so suffocating in the dark. I did not need to search the room long. I glanced around the table and chairs only to find a pile of linens in the corner. The folds and edges were squirming. I dropped to my knees and opened the pile up with shaking hands. Inside was a naked baby, hiccuping from crying so much. I turned to the window where the silver gaze of the uncovered moon came streaming in.

As I gathered the baby in the cloth, I could tell he was a boy. He was trembling all over. His arms were outstretched, his fingers would unfold and then ball into tight red fists, white only at his knuckles. A swirl of dark hair crowned his round head, and his dark eyes were like Olvida’s, so big and round. He was staring frantically at me. Just to be in my arms was not enough! His fat cheeks and a little chin were drenched in tears, and his little mouth was wrenched open, a dark hole that issued scream after scream.

I began to retrace my steps through the manor, but I was lost in a maze. The hallways twisted and turned, I felt I was in another world. Surely, the walls could not have moved while my back was turned. I would have heard the heaving groans of the foundations’ efforts, I would have caught the walls in the act! Yet, here I was, lost, a screaming baby in my arms’ embrace, the manor made of dark and winding tunnels. I could hear forest leaves under my feet, like I was lost in the woods all over again. I finally cried:

“Help! Someone help, please!” I collapsed against the wall, I held the baby close, I whispered over and over: “Please, be still, please, be quiet.” My hands clenched into the blanket surrounding the quivering pair of legs, arms, shaking sternum, and hot red face. “I am right here, we will find your mother, I am right here.” The servants, armed with candles and clubs, found me rocking back and forth, I thought I could calm the little one with this gentle gesture, but he only shrieked.

“Hermana!" The servant exclaimed as she dropped her club, and seized my shoulder. In the candle like I could see she was an older woman, her skin was dark, and so were her eyes but they flashed with urgency. There were small holes in her ears and nostrils, dots of scar tissue that now replaced piercing. She was wrapped in a shawl that even in this minor light shone brightly in all of its colors. “What has happened?”

“I need the lady of the house - I need her! - but I do not know where she is. Please, help me - help me find her!”

The Tairona servant woman, by the look on her startled face, was unsure whether to run or to help. She seemed just as disturbed as I, but nonetheless, she nodded as she retreated. Her hands were held out to me, she spoke calmly with only the slightest tremor to her tones. “Wait here,” she said, her Spanish a lilting sing-song sound, though halted by perhaps an incomplete grasp of the language. “I will fetch, wait here. Please,” and she took off, the darkness of the hallway swallowed her whole.

I waited with the other servant, who watched me cautiously, and kept reassuring her grip on her club. I did not care about her nervousness, how could I focus on anything except this baby that now screamed louder than before. I thought I was waiting an eternity, like maybe the world had gone on without us, that I would forever be with this baby I could not stop from weeping, shaking, coughing and sputtering as it choked on its own tears. I was terrified, and like the baby, I, too, was shaking, my eyes were overflowing with tears. I sank to the floor, and I held the baby to my beating heart, but the thundering rhythm was lost in the sound of the howling parcel in my arms. The Tairona servant and Olvida found me like this.

They surfaced from the darkness, the servant pointed fervently at me, and Olvida rushed to my side. A candle was planted next to her, and I could see her clearly. She was in a pale blue robe, her dark hair was loose and hung low past her shoulders. Her face was a mask of confusion and fear, much like the baby’s in my arms. She touched my shoulders, she gripped them tightly .

“Hermana. Hermana Nieve!”

“I found it. I found him like this in the dining room.”

“What? What is it? What is wrong?”

“I did not know what to do, I had to find you.”

Olvida wrapped her robe around me. “Good Lord, child, you are shaking!”

I looked at her. “Is the child yours? Is the baby yours?”

“The baby?”

“Yes, look, you have to look.”

Olvida shook her head, in the semi-darkness she had gone pale. “Hermana.”

“The eyes, they look just like your eyes.”

“Hermana!”

I stared at her. She poured her gaze into mine so deeply that I thought she would strike another reserve of tears. I could not stop shaking, and she could not blink. She only stared, her features shifted like oil on water; slowly and smoothly. At first, concern, and then a pity that made me feel so tiny and more alone then ever before.

“There is no baby.”

And I suddenly realized the silence, that my arms were empty.

Gone Fishin'

Well, not really fishin'. Mom is taking me out to the famous spa. She loves this place, and we've always wanted to go together but either I've been too far away, or had plans, or something of that nature. So, now that I'm getting ready to move again, Mom has pounced, and I'm glad she did. When I move far away, we don't really get to see much of each other. The trip is a perfect chance to cut loose and have fun before the big move.

So, I'm gonna plug my friends' sites really quick instead because they're awesome.

11 Word Movie Reviews
Derek is a good friend out on the west coast, he also knows a thing or two about movies. Brevity is the soul of wit, and when it comes to film, man, does this guy have it all! So, if you are looking for brevity, soul, and wit, check out the 11 Word Movie Reviews.

Attempts at Ressurecting a Muse
Blogger and friend Trish finds and creates art in everything. You will find everything here! Photography, geckos, cupcakes, baby birds, handstitched projects, recipes, Ford Explorers looking for a home, and you'll see just how blue hydrangea petals can get on Attempts at Ressurecting a Muse.

Burn, Baby, Burn!
He loves to cook and has no hope for our future. Okay, that's a bit melodramatic, but when you use the books, movies, and music around you to explore the possibility of a dystopian future, it's nice to have a little comfort food to fall back on. Mike breaks down some of his favorite dystopian works and serves up some awesome nosh to go with in his blog Burn, Baby, Burn!.

Crunk Acoustic
She's my best friend, my sister from another mister, my soul, my heart, and my hetero-lifemate. When she isn't changing your life with her food, she is jamming with her new band The Piecycles, and navigating her way around guitar chords and soulful singing. Creative, hilarious, and moving, she will get your toe-tapping at the Crunk Acoustic.

Elephant Talk
Answering the cry of: "There is no good music out there anymore" is Kevin. In his blog, Kevin checks out some of the newest artists on the scene. Not only that, but he pays some groovy love to the bands that came before them. This guy loves his music, and no matter the genre, he'll tell you all about it in his own brand of Elephant Talk.

Feeding Your Addiction
"The foodie lives to eat, and to eat to live is definitive boredom". Life and food go hand-in-hand, and Fatema shows you just how great living can be with the right amount of seasoning and the sound of your favorite ingredients hitting a hot pan. Satiate that hungry monkey on your back by Feeding Your Addiction.

Managing the Game
He's a big man with some big talent. Chris's range spans from make-up design, to artistry, film, and managerial stint(s) in the gaming industry. The industry can be at times unforgiving and at others wholly rewarding, and Chris breaks down his experiences in design, creativity, and Managing the Game.

Sara Crawford
I owe this girl a lot, and you owe it to yourself to check her out. Music, movies, plays, you name it, she does it, and she does it in a way that will make your head giddily spin. One of the most creative people I know is way more than this website, but the links and pages are a great way to start your introduction to Sara Crawford.

System sans Setting
He'll break it down, and build it again, probably better than it was before. Whether this is a video game, a treadmill that refuses to go down stairs without a fight, this paragraph, a plothole, or an idea, Stephen will find a new approach, a new solution, and a new way of mastering the game in System sans Setting.

The Hollywood Projects
Last, but in no way even close to least, there never was a boy who loved film quite the way this one does. Young at heart, wise with a pen, Andy's got a way of not only seeing movies, but discussing them. He takes a look at some of the best, and where he might tell you he wrecks the whole sha-bang by ranking them, I'll tell you he gives you a whole new way to watch film in The Hollywood Projects.

I'm still collecting a couple more sites that I want to put up, so they'll be hanging around soon. If anyone I know has read this and wants me to plug a site or a blog of theirs, just give me a holler! Until then, check these guys out. You'll be in for a treat!

Chapter 4: Revised

And the exposition train keeps on chuggin'. Those that did get a chance to read through The Anchoress on the first go will notice an early appearance of Captain Gonzalez and his spouse, Olvida. This change will be explored in the next installment.

"We will meet again!"
(PS: Robert De Niro in The Mission was a big visual for Gonzalez, uh, that's why he's posted here... you should probably just keep reading now.)

For now, let’s check out Padre Alvarelo, the young priest that was sent from the mission to retrieve Carmen and Nieve. I wanted to add a little more to this first encounter, so we have him discussing events prior to Carmen and Nieve’s arrival, as well as being a little more verbal on the ride from port. He is one of those characters who writes himself, so revisiting him and creating more of a first impression has been a happy breeze.

"Just imagine me a little more Spanish. And not spittin' while droppin' sick beats."
(Joaquin Phoenix in Quills)

This chapter will also see the exclusion of the “stranger” that Nieve encountered in her past when she was lost in the woods. This stranger was meant to be an early visitation from a demon, and was also meant to be a nod to the play Vinegar Tom which begins with the devil more-or-less raping/seducing one of the characters. Excellent play, by the way, check it out. As much as I love The Crucible, I find Vinegar Tom much better.

Kitty's Question: Why aren't you running out and reading this play right now?

Anyway, the point is that this shady figure in Nieve’s past not only seemed over-kill on the wow factor, but also eclipsing of other events. I did not want to devalue those events just because I felt like grossing someone out. I have other moments that can do that.

I can only hope this will be the face you make.

Also, when I saw Paranormal Activity, I did not like the whole idea of the heroine being the center of some demon’s attention since she was old enough to enter her first spelling bee. That is one bored demon, and there is a certain “chosen one” factor to the heroine that I did not want to see on Nieve. So, the stranger has been eliminated completely, and what demons Nieve has are her own, at least where her past is concerned.

Bored Demon is nostalgic as he watches your parents take off the training wheels from the tricycle. D'awwww.

4

Dear Adan, what a lovely person!


Carmen and I sat with the deacon at Padre Alvarelo’s table. Though the padre smelt of smoke, and most unwelcoming smell, I found him an otherwise refreshing man. He removed his hat and smoothed away rough tangles of short, sandy brown hair. He resurfaced with the kindest of smiles. He asked Carmen and myself about our trip, marveled at our courage in the face of the fearsome storm, and was quick to welcome us once more to our destination. We ate a modest meal, but I was more interested in my new company than the dish cooling in front of me.

“How long have you been here?” I inquired.

“Going on five years.” He said before dunking that amiable smile into the drink he had lifted from the wax dotted table.

“And you?” I faced the deacon.

“The same,” he agreed. “Through rebellion and peace.”

“Amen,” Padre Alvarelo chuckled, and bowed his head to the grinning deacon.

Carmen was not as amused. “You were here when the Tairona rebelled.”

“That was years ago,” Padre Alvarelo soothed, aware of the thoughts racing through Carmen’s mind. “The Tairona are peaceful now, we have achieved a balance with them. We live very harmoniously with them here.”

“So,” I said, “you like it here.”

He marveled at my statement. “I love it here.”

We left once our meals had settled in our demanding stomachs. I must confess, Adan, the meal was light, but better than anything I had eaten on the ship. The fruit was exotic, so peculiar and sweet. The bread was soft, the crust was crunchy, dusty with flour. The rice was spicy, but like nothing I had had back in Spain. I would need the energy from this satisfying, slight meal; I was about to learn how to ride a horse for the first time. When Padre Alvarelo informed us of this, Carmen and I stopped in our tracks. We were unprepared for such an announcement, but there was no time to waste!

The deacon accompanied us to the stables at the border of the port to see us off. Heavy hooves were clapping against the stable’s hay strewn stone floor. There were stablemen huddled near a rack of saddles, smoking and discussing something quietly. Behind them, bridles dangled across a wooden wall. They greeted us with a wave, and pointed us in the direction of the horses waiting in their pens. The horses shifted their weight, and their ears swiveled as they heard our advance.

I took a deep breath, and approached the horse that Padre Alvarelo indicated would be mine. He pointed out the another for Carmen and the deacon was quick to assist her. Padre Alvarelo was patient as he helped me into the saddle, and led me out to the stone path leading away from the port.

“You hold the reins like this. Now, give him a light kick with your heels. Not too hard now. Good. Like that. Now, if you pull on one rein - pull it out to the side. Gently, he does not need much,” he laughed gleefully, and watched as I became more comfortable in the saddle. “Good. Yes! Just like that. He will turn in the direction you pull. Give him one more kick, Nieve. Do not be nervous. This is just a trot. Find the rhythm. Good, very good. Can you feel that? Up. Down. Up. Then down. Just like that. Easy, easy, all right, now, slow down. Ease back.”

I leaned back in the saddle, I pulled gently on the reins as I circled around to stand in front of Padre Alvarelo. He tipped his hat back on his head, I could see his eyes more clearly. They were full of mirth.

“Good?” I asked.

And he nodded. “Very good.”

We were on our way, the deacon waved at our backs. It seemed Carmen, too, was a fast learner! She took to horse riding very naturally. I must admit, I was a little jealous, but only a little. We traveled up a stone road that tapered into the jungle beyond. The afternoon sun would begin its descent soon, but this did little to cut the thick and wet heat of the jungle. The sun sparkled through cracks in the otherwise lush canopy. I was seized with a sudden memory from our childhood, Adan. We were playing in the woods. You were hiding, and I was seeking, and I could not find you. You played a nasty trick on me—you and your friends. I thought we were playing, but you ran off.

My, but I was alone, and so scared. I remember looking into the peeping eyes of sunlight I could make out through the edges of the leaves above me. I thought I heard you giggling in the bushes under the roots, behind the trees. I thought I heard your silly friends, too. But alas, no one! I thought I would be lost forever. Until the time I had wandered back into our parents’ yard, it certainly seemed that way. Your friends were gone - too afraid to get in trouble - and you embraced me so tightly. You said you were so sorry. How could I have lost my way so easily?

“Enchanting.” Padre Alvarelo’s voice brought me back. “Just enchanting.”

My eyes circled the forest, so unlike the one on our father‘s territory, Adan. Trees reached for the dwindling sun, whose rays could hardly muscle past the wide leaves and woven black branches. What light could be spared came through in smooth yellow beams that kissed the ground. All around me, the bugs were buzzing, and beyond the stone path, there was ceaseless movement in the jungle. Whether this was the wind or creatures I could not yet identify, I did not know. The heat, as a result, was forgotten.

“I have never seen anything like it,” I breathed.

Carmen was anxious, her head constantly whipped this way and that in reaction to every sound. “I feel like we are being watched.”

“We probably are.” Padre Alvarelo wiggled his eyebrows jokingly and slapped a grape-sized fly off his horse’s neck. “There are numerous creatures in these woods.” Carmen watched the fly fall to the ground. Its many legs jiggled as it rocked among the twigs. The insect recovered and buzzed away angrily.

“Are they… dangerous?” Carmen hazarded as she watched the fly take off.

“Some of them.” He looked back to find us both slack-jawed. He winked and moved on. Carmen and I encouraged our horses to match pace with him rather quickly after that. A blur of questions were on our lips, begging to inquire him: What creatures? What did they look like? When did you meet them? Were you hurt?

Our guide turned to us once more, and pointed up the road. “I have arranged lodgings with Captain Alejandro this evening. He and his men are the protectors of our mission.” I could see what he was indicating now. There was a faint, dirt path that led away from the main stone road. “Traveling the jungles at night,” Padre Alvarelo dropped his voice theatrically, and brought his horse around to ours, “can be dangerous.”

Carmen made a face, and I cupped my hand around an unexpected giggle. We left the road, and the winding dirt led among thick roots of towering trees. It was not long before we entered a man-made clearing; there were shorn tree trunks, and the grass was cut close to the ground.

The path was stone again, our horse’s hooves clattered loudly. At the end of the path we found an impressive mansion. Though it was only a couple stories high, the estate was wide. A porch curled around the structure, and local plant life I had seen on our journey decorated this encompassing platform.

The doors opened, and a tall man emerged. Two Tairona men were beside him. They moved stiffly, like military men. My immediate impression of the manor’s master was that of a strict man. Every stitch of his attire was in place, and a beard was groomed close to his jaw, chin and mouth. The image I had of this host was that of a curt man, clean and strict. However, when he smiled I was caught off guard. The expression was warm and inviting, especially after the journey from the port. He opened his arms to our party. The Tairona servants helped us from our horses.

“Padre Alvarelo.” The master of the manor called from his steps. “These must be the sisters from your letter.”

A striking woman came outside to stand beside him. She was quite beautiful, and a proud step guided her poised form. Her dress was a beautifully solid green, the collar a linen pair of wings folded daintily along her throat. I imagined her with long dark hair when it was not twisted and coiled in ribbons, pinned tight to her head. They looked like a pretty match.

“Welcome,” the tall man said through a grand smile, his teeth slowly painted in as he drew his lips into a happy line. “I am Captain Gonzalez Alejandro. This is my wife, Olvida.”

Chapter 3: Revised

Wow! It sure has been a while, hasn't it? A lot has been happening on this end. There is a small part of me that wishes I still had to do those "What I Did On My Summer Break" essays. You know, like, back in school before you started dissecting owl pellets and shit? Well, on my summer break, I lost my job, and then the boyfriend hit a rough patch, and then my boyfriend became my husband, and I got into culinary school. Now, how about those owl pellets?

Okay, let's get down to the nitty gritty in the capital city here. You aren't here to read up on my personal life, I'm not here to write about personal breakthroughs. I have an LJ for that, a nice, quiet secluded LJ. I'm here to keep this whole novel gravy train going.

So, here is the third chapter of the revise Anchoress draft. Having pulled through the storm, the sisters are now ready to set foot in Santa Marta. We'll be saying farewell to Elias (for now!) and moving right along. A lot of my experiences in Nassau have been translated to the chapter.


Not only my impression of the Bahamas, but also a little church I found there. The church you will be seeing in this chapter was inspired by a church my husband and I went to in Nassau. So many details - big and small - struck me upon setting foot in this church, but what really struck me was the heat, and the fact that I think only one person was on duty in the church. I wanted to put the silence, the heat, and the solitude of this tiny character into this chapter.


Also, I felt that Nieve's first visual encounter with the Tairona was very rushed and minute in the first draft, so as she travels through the port, there is more detail and attention given to what should essentially be - if this were a film - "extras". Recently, I've been watching a lot of Kiruosawa. There are so many things that define him, but for me his work with extras and background motleys/groups/crowds is as intricate and essential to detail as the rest of his techniques and the performances he gets from his casts. I wanted to apply that to Nieve and Carmen's journey through the port to the church.

PS!
If you want to learn more about the Tairona and the "Heart of the World" that is Santa Marta, check this blog out. It's really spectacular!

3

Adan!

We have arrived in one piece; we are in the port of Santa Marta. I must have been so obnoxious this morning. I ran to Carmen’s cabin as soon as I was dressed and barged my way in. My, was she surprised by how tightly I embraced her!

“You are much stronger than my brothers,” she gasped, “for such a little thing.”

“Carmen, we are here. Here! Can you believe this?”

“Be still, Sister; you are far too loud!”

“We must go on deck—hurry! Hurry!”

“Yes, yes. Go on without me, Nieve.” Carmen laughed, she shooed me away. “I will be there when I have finished packing!”

My feet had developed their own impulses. They took off, Adan, carrying me with them. I raced through the galley and climbed the stairs two at a time as I headed for the deck. The ship was not rocking as violently, the stairs were not as slick, and even if they all were, my progress would go unaffected. I was a different creature today, I felt as though I were a child once again.

On deck, the passengers were gathered along the edge of the ship. They gasped and cooed, a mixture of relief and exuberance upon finally catching sight of the port. Such a sun soaked destination had been teasing us as it stayed hidden behind the horizon for months. Behind the gathered crowd, the crew bustled about to prepare the ship for docking once more. Their feet slapped across the deck in a hurried rhythm, and whistled commands pierced between the low deck and highest rigging. The last time the ship was this crowded and active, Adan, we were leaving the Spanish port for Santa Marta. Now we were there!

The smell of the day’s previous storm was in the air, wet and refreshing. The storm had dented the humidity. The sun warmly cuddled the back of my neck through my habit, but such heat was cut significantly by a cool wind. The port was bathed in a welcoming light; it was so appealing, why, it took clenching my hands around the parapet to keep from leaping into the turquoise water to reach the white shore. Beyond the bustling, noisy port was the verdant, exotic rainforest, and looming in the distance of them were mountains, all draped in a cloudy shawls.

Adan, this was no longer a dream induced by the rocking in my cabin; my eyes were open, the texture of the boat was truly beneath my fingertips, I could feel the breeze on my cheeks. I was awake, Adan, and in a matter of moments, we would be anchored and bound to this place.

The plank hit the deck, and I was off like a shooting star, only this time, I was dragging Carmen with me. She held her coif close to her head, her skirts billowed behind her like a sail—can you imagine your sister, Adan, bearing such speed? But I did that morning, and I was not about to let up. Not even as Elias called to us. Carmen looked back at him over her shoulder, and cleared her throat.

“Hermana Nieve, you are possessed. Slow down!”

I turned, marched backward, much to her chagrin, as I spoke excitedly: “This is remarkable. Carmen!” Carmen latched onto my shoulders, and guided me around the fishermen, soldiers, and tradesmen I threatened to bump into the water. “We are halfway around the world. The world! In your whole life, Carmen, did you ever think you would be here?”

“Nieve, please, look where you are going.”

I spun around and through some unknown grace managed to skip over a length of rope that was coiled next some of the local fishermen. Their skin was the color of the earth, like the field beyond our house. We used to look at stars there, Adan, and when it rained the earth around the blades of yellow and green short grass would turn that rich brown. Some boasted gold, one had a thin golden band in his ear, the other wore a dented gold ring on his thumb. The other was in a dark blue gathered hat, he was smoking out of some sort of old reed, as were the others. They snickered playfully, one of them waved at us, and I returned the hail delightedly.

Carmen rolled her eyes and we linked arms. “If I do not keep a hold of you, my suddenly sprightly Sister, I am afraid you will take off into the very jungle.”

I chuckled. “Perhaps it is for the best, then. I will try to contain myself.”

There were quick, heavy footsteps behind us. Elias had caught up to us. He looked so different today than he did yesterday. His hair was smoothed back from his forehead, gathered in a shorn black ribbon. He was shaved, and appeared much more official in a jerkin and doublet. His sword was notched at his side, and he relaxed his hand across the hilt. He finally stopped, leaned further onto the pommel of his sword, and smiled.

“What do you think of it all, Hermanas?”

I could only smile.

We three entered the busy port. Oh, Adan—you would have loved it here! There was so much food. There was conch cooked in hot oil with plantains, and I could smell coconut milk in almost every dish we passed. Sizzling fish and the smell of split oranges hissing in the fire under them. Women were selling long strands of ceramic beads and golden jewelry, and there were men holding up woodcarvings of creatures and masks. Others offered us pink- and cream-colored shells, and still others unfurled loom woven tapestries along their arms to blow brightly in the wind. They drew so close to us, all trying to sell their goods; Carmen blushed and pressed on quickly with me in tow.

She pulled out a copy of the charge we had received from our church back in Spain. “Where are we heading again?”

“You could not have forgotten how to read on our trip,” I teased, and she pinched my side as she set to reading.

“We are to meet at the Santa Marta Cathedral, close to the dock. A missionary will be there.” Carmen fanned herself with the letter. Her face was bright red, and there was an uneven line of perspiration that had soaked through her coif. Not even some minutes off the boat and already Carmen was feeling the heat! “We should find him quickly. Get out of this sun.”

“This way, I think I see a church up ahead,” Elias said, and we journeyed further through the port until we found the modest cathedral Elias had indicated moments ago. The walls were tall and white; the painted windows narrow. A bell was tolling the hour above our heads. Beautiful, low tones bellowed across the bustling port. Carmen pushed open the heavy front door; so distracted was I, she had to catch me by the wrist and pull me after her while Elias held the door. I just could not help myself—I wanted to stay outside, despite the hot morning.

The wooden door sighed shut behind our heels. Inside, we could see just how detailed those painted windows were. One panel boasted a serene Virgin Mary painted in deep blues, pure whites, and strong reds. Her face was glowing with sunlight; she looked charming. What a sight… to see her smiling so benevolently on us from the still glass. I felt as if she were welcoming me. Carmen and I crossed ourselves and knelt in the nave beneath the feet of a tall, wood-carved savior while Elias watched on quietly.

Carmen prayed for us both. “Dear Lord, we give thanks for our swift and safe delivery; bless us with your guidance, your strength, and your kindness.”

We said, “Amen,” together and stood after making the sign of the cross again.

“Excuse me.” The meek voice came from behind us; it sounded as if a mouse had uttered the polite interjection. Elias’s hand fell away from his sword’s hilt once we had turned to find a gentle-looking young man standing in the aisle. His smile was hospitable, his cheeks and neck were shiny with a slight sheen of perspiration. He wore a linen tunic with a similar linen stole draped across his left shoulder.

The letter resurfaced from Carmen’s knapsack. She unfolded it with one hand and peered at the man over the edge of the paper. “Do you know where we could find… Father Victor Alvarelo?”

“Oh, you must be the Sisters from the Santa Maria Cloister back in Spain. Seville, yes?”

“Yes.” I smiled, and he returned the expression with a sigh of relief.

“Padre Alvarelo heard from the dock master yesterday that you would be delayed due to the storm. He took lodgings not too far from here. I can take you to him now, if you’ll just follow me.”

Carmen and I nodded. “Thank you,” she said as the somber deacon led us from the cathedral. Outside, Elias faced all three of us with a comforting smile. His stare, however, soon fell directly on the deacon.

“You will be safe in the port?”

“Of course, signor,” the deacon replied politely. “I have lived here through uprisings and peace, and I have navigated both successfully. The hermanas will be safe in my care.”

“Then I am grateful,” Elias bowed his head respectfully, and started to move off. “I need to join my unit, but hermanas,” he came back to us with a quick step, and kiss both of our cheeks, “it was an honor traveling with you. Be safe.”

“Of course, Elias,” we embraced him, and watched him disappear into the currents of the busy crowd.

We were brought into a dimly lit tavern. The room was layered with drifting curtains of smoke. Bizarre and tantalizing smells came out of a bright kitchen. There were soldiers sitting around a game of cards, none of them I recognized from the ship, and all of them were nursing cups of coffee. Patrons were huddled over the bar, muttering with the tender, and there was a cook at the far end of the room, napping, a book folded on his chest while a couple workers manned the kitchen.

Upon our entrance, all eyes were on us, the new strangers shadowing the bright-faced deacon. After they had soaked in our presence, they returned to their affairs—flipping cards on the table, continuing their whispered conversations with the tender… The chef abandoned his book to check on something in the kitchen before returning to continue his nap.

I saw a hand raise. A small smoking reed was pinched between a forefinger and a middle finger. A tall and lean-looking man stood. The deacon gasped in recognition, waved, and gestured us to follow him around patrons and tables.

I had a clear view of the man now. He was young but still older than the deacon escorting us, I think. His skin was darkly tanned, like a farmer‘s skin. A thin beard framed the length of his jaw and climbed up to a head of unruly hair that was somehow tamed by an old, wide-brimmed leather hat. He was wrapped in a loose linen cassock. A stole, much like the deacon’s, was wrapped around his hip, and a wooden rosary looped around his left wrist. He turned from us to stamp out his hand-rolled tobacco and met us with a beaming smile. He removed the hat, held the garment over his heart, and nodded.

“You are the hermanas sent from Spain. My name is Father Victor Alvarelo.” His smile would have been as bright as the candle stationed in the dusty lantern on his table, only his delighted expression never flickered or wavered, and, as such, shone brighter than that little flame. It was as if he could not believe we were standing in front of him. He was so spirited, so pleased to see us.

“I am so happy you have come to us. We have been looking forward to your arrival, and I must confess,” his honey-brown eyes darted away sheepishly, “you could not have come at a better time.”

“We are blessed to be here, Father Alvarelo.” Carmen was beaming, and who could blame her?
He studied our faces, pleased with Carmen’s answer, and his smile seemed to grow upon once he looked into my eyes. “Well, my dear hermanas,” his arms opened with a welcoming wave, “please, sit! Join me.”

Chapter 2: Revised

Not much to report on this one. Again, Elias has been fleshed out a bit more here, though it is the next chapter that I think he really shines as a character. He has been the biggest surprise to write. What started as a cameo has become a very small, but cherished character. I wonder if he will stick through the rest of the book as much as he has the first few chapters.

Scenes of recovery from the storm, minor tweaking on Carmen and Nieve's dialogue, and even a bit of a closer look at Nieve toward the end. Enjoy!

A modern day scene of Cartagena

2

Dearest Adan, what I saw still chills me to the bone.

The storm had come in on thick, rolling clouds. The eyes of the crew were set on the horizon. Men with piercingly confident, dark eyes were for once apprehensive and doubtful as they looked at the far-off cluster of stormy boulders. I saw an ashen sky and felt a churlish wind wrap around my neck. I remember shrinking away from the sight, I drew close to one of the nearby sailors. He was a gruff man who always chewed his words over with a lump of tobacco. He pointed a callused finger out to sea. “You just look out there, Hermana Nieve.” He grunted. “You want us to sail in that, eh?”

He was indicating the nest of swollen black clouds, pregnant with what could only be outrageous winds and ear-popping thunder. The mass was dragging a black veil across the choppy waters of the horizon, and occasionally, lightning-tongues would slither to lick along the nebulous bellies. Beholding such a powerful force dropped my heart into my stomach. I knew I was pale, I knew I was shivering. Somehow, in the midst of this fear, I remembered how to speak again.

I shook my head, transfixed on the darkness far ahead of us. “No, Signor,” I said, my whispered words carried away with a passing hiss of wind. “I thought we had just pulled through the worst of it.”

“You and the captain both. He’s seen it all, too. Seen it all.” His smile was big; but his tiny eyes, typically pinched and sparkling with humor at me, now dull and nervous at the sight of the storm combing the sea. It stalked the water like some sort of beast, and we felt its percussive footfalls on the air. “Maybe you missed your calling as a captain, eh?”

I smiled, despite my frayed nerves. “Maybe, Signor.”

The men I have been traveling with are hard, Adan. Even on this voyage, the storms that frightened me to tears were not nearly as bad as the maelstroms these men have lived through. Worked through! Even so, the captain, who was always the first to rise, insisted we dock as soon as we had cleared Cartagena. We would have docked there, but pirates had taken the city, and the captain thought it too risky for me and my traveling companion, Carmen, to step ashore there.

By late afternoon, we had pulled into the small port of Santa Ana and docked. The sails were drawn down and fastened. The ancient, thick chain of the anchor sank into the choppy water. Foamy waves slapped the sides of the boat, and swirled around the pillars of the dock awaiting us. I had gone below long before we pulled into the port at Santa Ana. I had to make sure Carmen was well, she was so fearful before I left.

I came down the steps, braced the walls on either side of me for balance, and found the galley populated. Some of our fellow passengers were there; the handful of private soldiers, the explorers with the ink stained fingers and already burgeoning beards, and the merchants usually distracted with math and arguing with one another. The head of the galley was feeding them what he could salvage from his destroyed cabin. That meant bread, a batch of survived fruit, and the end of our tea. It was lucky this storm struck us so close to our destination; most of our food had been ruined in the chaos of the first storm. The second one would have ended us, I am sure of it, brother!

I found Carmen with Elias. He had just finished speaking with the soldiers, and as I stepped off the last stair, he was bringing Carmen a handful of bread and a cup of tea. Adan, Elias has been like a brother to us. He has been so kind to Carmen and I, so much so that at that moment I resolved to repay him in any way I could. He was a man with a sweeter tooth than you; maybe indigenous candies? I approached them both, and Carmen put her arms around me.

“Thank God you are all right.”

“What did you see?” Elias asked.

I looked between the two of them. “We avoided a wretched storm, the likes of which I hope I will never see again.”

The captain appeared at the top of the steps. He was usually dressed much more sharply than his current state. His coat was unbuttoned, his hair was messily tied, and he had not shaved. Still, his attitude was controlled and sincere, he looked each of us in the eye as he spoke.

“A tavern has offered us refuge from the storm. They have halved their price, and we will ask only that you offer us what you can. We will, otherwise, see you are accommodated.” He was about to leave, but instead imparted us with a sigh and a truly concerned look. “Was anyone hurt?”

A varied batch of replies, all of them in the negative. I was quietly pleased to discover our fellow travelers were shaken, but otherwise unharmed. The captain was as satisfied as he could be with this answer, and nodded curtly to us.

“We will notify you when it is time to disembark,” and he left us with our food, and quiet recuperation.

The plank had been lowered, and we were indeed notified when it was time to leave the ship. We took our things with us, and we made our way to the deck. The crew and captain watched as we took to the plank. Carmen and I stayed close to Elias, who made sure we made it down the plank without tipping into the hungry waters below. Though the waves were not deep around the dock, they could still pull us out to sea. Carmen held my hand, and I offered her my reassuring grip.
We followed our fellow passengers to the tavern along the pier. A round woman in a loose shirt and many skirts was waving us down with a kerchief. We hailed her, and she led us all into her tavern. The rain had already started.

Elias, once he was sure we were settled in our rooms, left us to join the company of the sailors at the bar. I descended from my room to settled under the red roofed porch overlooking the pier. Carmen, in calmer spirits now, had disappeared back inside to find us something warm and soothing to drink. So, there I was, beneath this canopy, waiting for her.

She really is the sweetest thing. The kindest girl you would ever know, Adan. If she were not so committed to our Sisters, I daresay she would have been the best girl for you! Like me, Carmen is a novitiate. We were both only a year or so out from our integration into the cloister back in Seville. Carmen is more headstrong about joining the Sisters, it was I who was more interested in imploring the bishop for an anchorite’s abode. Could you imagine your sister, Adan? Her window facing the world, accepting visitors, those who would come and beg her advice. I would be married to God himself, and the home I would keep would be our home. A simple home with a bed, a place for me to write, a place for me to pray. Carmen believes this a lonely life, but how could I be lonely or unloved when it is God I make this home with?

The rain sounded like tiny pebbles on the wooden canopy over my head. So peaceful. The path beyond the tavern’s porch steps became muddy, and puddles pooled quickly. They spat back tiny brown beads with every raindrop that struck the surface. I knew the ship was out there beyond that wall of constantly shifting rainwater, but now she was only an outline. A ghost, drifting behind the flowing veil that drifted across the beach, the pier, over the crashing waves.

“Two teas,” Carmen said upon her return.

I jumped. “Carmen, you startled me.”

“Oh, I am sorry, dear.” She giggled as she settled next to me, and to my surprise, she had also brought us a dish of grilled pawpaw! As we sipped our tea and ate our fruit, she eyed the book sitting in my lap, which was sheathing the remainder of my graphite pencil. “How is Adan?”

“He’s well,” I said, setting my book off to the side. “I am telling him all about our trip.”
Carmen frowned. “Even the bits where I was seasick?”

“Oh, especially those!”

“The captain said we would be clear to set out tomorrow morning. He is otherwise indisposed,” she brought an imaginary bottle to her lips.

“Really?” I giggled, but soon I was drawn into watching the storm once more. “I feel like this rain could never let up.”

“Are you excited about Santa Marta?” Carmen asked.

“Yes, very much.”

Carmen was suddenly so quiet. Her head bowed so low that I thought her chin had become lead. In contrast to such a heavy expression, her fingertip lightly traced the lip of her half-empty teacup. “Me too.”

“Sister,” I touched her wrist, “you seem so worried.”

“I must confess I am a… little nervous.”

“Oh, Carmen.” I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and kissed her brow. “Why? Does the storm have you out of sorts?”

“I’m not sure,” she said distantly, and leaned back so she could look at me with her big hazel eyes. “Just homesick.” Seeing her tears, my face melted with sympathy. “I miss the cloister,” she confessed, as though afraid someone other than myself might hear her.

“I do too,” I confided, and gave her shoulder a squeeze. Though, I will admit only to you that I was not as particularly homesick as Carmen. I did miss our cloister, of course. I had a little garden there, the Mother Superior was strict, but fair-hearted and kind. She had given Carmen and I a home in the house of God. However, my homesickness, Adan, was so eclipsed by the eagerness I had for this land; a land I had never seen before.

I felt, for the moment, cruel. My answer has been crafted quickly and out of the necessity to show Carmen a familiar kindness in this otherwise foreign edge of the world. Still, Adan, was I lying? Carmen was so alone without the Sisters; I just wanted her to know she was not. We had each other.

At that moment, the table of sailors inside the tavern erupted with laughter over what I could only assume was a well-timed joke. We turned in our seats to watch them. Elias was at the head of the table, concluding an animated story. The sailors were sitting with the soldiers, and they were slapping the table, making their food and frothy beers rattle.

I chuckled, and much to my surprise this brought a smile back to Carmen’s face. “But we will see them so soon!” I rode on the tail of her returning happiness, and smiled happily at her. “The year will fly by.” There was a clap of thunder. My heart skipped a beat, I think Carmen’s did too! Her hand was over her chest, and we exchanged a stunned look that soon reduced to duet of giggling.
I embraced her again. “You’ll see, Carmen. I promise.”

We had more tea and watched the storm a little longer before retiring to bed. I smoothed my hands over my long chemise, and unbound my hair. I pulled it over my shoulder, off of my back. The brown locks were like a veil. I so rarely saw my hair. Can you imagine your sister loose of her vanity?

I knelt to pray, and could hear the thunder growling beyond my sealed window. I crawled under the covers, I lie still as I waited for sleep, I listened to the rain dance across my window. The lightning winked across the sky, and momentarily cast dark and light shapes into my room. They were contorted and weird against such sudden brilliance. I cycled prayers and hymns through my head, and this eventually lulled me into a deep sleep.

The New Beginning

Sleeping, waking, eating, storms. These are four of many things that will catch a publisher's attention. In this case, the attention garnered from "sleeping, waking, eating, storms" can often times kill the chances for a manuscript to advance. In the original draft of "The Anchoress", Nieve wakes from sleeping, gets some breakfast, and heads up to a ship's deck to behold a rather terrifying storm.

Hm. I smell some challenge in the water!

I mean, come on, I didn't want to lose my storm. I love that storm. It's a nod to a fitting bit from Revelations Chapter 1, verse 7:

Behold, he cometh with clouds; and every eye shall see him, and they also which pierced him: and all kindreds of the earth shall wail because of him.

I am rather partial to it.

So, this go around, the first chapter is a little different. The short lived character Elias is also back, he's graduated from bit part to supporting character, so make him feel at home. The storm has been shifted to the beginning of Chapter 2, instead of Chapter 1, where it haunts the ship, rather than making a specific appearance.


1

Adan, the year is 1520.


The woods, the gnarled roots, the whisper of leaves around my feet. The sun taking the day with it beyond the horizon. The pretty sunset should have set me at ease, but I see it here and relive. What I see, what I feel, what I smell, touch, and whimper. It all floods back. Such nightmares almost consumed me, but I was pitched from my bed, poured onto the floor of a slanting, creaking cabin. The candle by my bed fell with me and rolled to the whims of the unsteady ship. The wax beacon sputtered across the floor, that light was the only light I had in here. No window to let in the sun, the moon, the stars, blue or gray skies, any of which could be beyond my cabin, and no lantern hanging from a crooked hook.

Would I lose my light?

My covers were coiled around me, the roots of my sleep that begged me to roost further in my nightmare. However, the restless vessel I had called home for the better part of three months would not allow a return to these horrid visions. Instead, the floor slanted further, the walls groaned, and I could hear a slamming, a ramming, a battering against them. Like something wanted to force its way through the planks, find me in my fading light and carry me out to sea.

As I recovered, I could hear the sound of the crew rushing overhead. Their footfalls, usually heavy and thunderous, were pitter-patters compared to the claps against my wall. What had we encountered? I was so close to my destination, I could already feel the sand between my toes, and yet here we were: threatened and frail. Would God hear my prayers through the din of so much madness?

I was to my feet, I rescued my candle, and staggered to the bed as my room continued to pitch with the ship. Threads of still wet wax burned warm against my palm, along my fingers. The sting would have been pronounced further were it not for my drumming heart, the shaking room within the rumbling boat, all of it alone on a dark sea. Then, I heard her:

"Nieve!”

My companion, Hermana Carmen, she was calling to me from what seemed another and far-off world. An ear-searing sound pierced the present racket. I was launched from my feet, I slammed into my sealed door and the candle was snuffed out. My stomach churned and flipped, I thought my feet would leave the air. I burst out of my room and into darkness.

The narrow corridor boasted the cries and complaints of the other passengers. Just four doors down in this wing of the ship, in these cabins I now fearfully confuse with watery coffins, my friend screamed for me. We were family; like sisters in times of joy, mothers in times of need. She needed me now, and I had to find her.

“Nieve! Where are you?” Carmen’s call echoed.

“I am here, I am all right. I will come to you!”

“Nieve,” a hand caught my arm. I turned to find our traveling companion and guardian, Elias Veda. His dark hair was untied and knotted strands framed his now pale face. Normally calm and warm brown eyes were alert and fearful. He was a man with fine aim, strength, and bravery on his side, all of which had not prepared him for something like this. He was a Spanish soldier joining the ranks stationed in Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta. We had been paired with him, and he had proven a fine protector and chaperon as we all journeyed to the New Spain, but even now he struggled in this charge. He was nothing against the vicious rocking ship.

Before he could say anything further, the ship slammed. The force of the stop, the way Elias and I crashed to the floor… my dear brother, I thought we had struck rock. There was no snap in the hull beneath us, just a heavy sigh and rolling groan. Elias had me securely in his grasp. He waited there, waited for the water to rush in, pin us to the walls or suck us into the open maw of the sea. The noise was dulled upon meeting the floor. Now, I could only hear Elias’s breath by my ear, and my heart kept beat with the rhythm of panic I was trying so desperately to contain.

I bit my lip.

I clenched my eyes shut.

I returned Elias’s grip, and shuddered; a combination of fear and the control I was attempting in the face of it.

None of the shipmen were racing below deck to find us. The sawing motion of our large vessel resumed. As disorienting as it all was for my feet, and though the swiftly shifting diagonal of the corridor challenged my balance, I was up again. Would we sink or would we sail? The answer to both questions was still one solid, constant: Carmen had to be found. I staggered passed the doors, all of them echoed with the complaints and laments of their occupants. I finally grabbed the knob to Carmen’s portal and twisted it open.

Carmen was braced to the nearest wall. She was a mess of red hair and tangled robe. Her white-knuckled fist shelled half a rosary away from the chaos. Her hazel eyes found me. I went to her swiftly, embraced her.

“It was a monster. It felt like a monster,” Carmen stammered, and I smoothed her wild hair from her gaunt face.

“Easy, Hermana Carmen,” I soothed. “I think we are through the worst of it.”

Elias stumbled in the corridor, but caught himself on Carmen’s door frame. “Christ, what was that?” His eyes darted in, and met both of our stares. “Pardon, Hermanas, for my language.”

I nodded, but I was not focused on Elias or Carmen. My intentions journeyed with my attentions back into the corridor. In an instant, I was seized by the preternatural curiosity my mother chided me for when I was a babe. You know this attitude, Adan, all too well. The need to look, to know, to finally have any and all questions - big or small - responded to.

“I am going on deck.”

“Nieve,” Carmen shook her head, her gaze bore into my own, she grasped at me. “Please, you must stay below. They will find us if we are in danger.”

“No,” on this I was firm, “I will be back. Elias?”

"Yes, Hermana,” he entered the room, but Carmen still protested.

“Come back!” Carmen called, Elias caught her as she stumbled after me, “Nieve!”

But I was on my way back up the corridor. My legs were aching from fighting the whims of the ship. Had I had food in my belly, I am sure I would have loosed it by now across the damp floorboards. My stomach was flipping beneath my chemise and robe, and I could not help but pay attention to every single gymnastic. I considered my arrival in the trashed galley a papal worthy miracle.

The galley was wrecked, elements of cookware and food were mixed with the disarrayed seats across the floor. I climbed the steps from the galley, each steep stair more grueling than the last, slick with seaweed and unexpected puddles. Finally, I hoisted myself onto the deck, expecting to see that tropical summer morning I had waited months for.


2

Dearest Adan, what I saw still chills me to the bone.


The storm had come in on thick, rolling clouds. The eyes of the crew were set on the horizon. Men with piercingly confident, dark eyes were for once apprehensive and doubtful as they looked at the far-off cluster of stormy boulders. I saw an ashen sky and felt a churlish, wailing wind wrap around my neck. I remember shrinking away from the sight, I drew close to one of the nearby sailors. He was a gruff man who always chewed his words over with a lump of tobacco. He pointed a callused finger out to sea. “You just look out there, Hermana Nieve.” He grunted. “You want us to sail that, eh?”

He was indicating the nest of swollen black clouds, pregnant with what could only be outrageous winds and ear-popping thunder. The mass was dragging a black veil across the choppy waters of the horizon, and occasionally, lightning-tongues would slither to lick along the nebulous bellies. Beholding such a powerful force dropped my heart into my stomach. I knew I was pale, I knew I was shivering. Somehow, in the midst of this fear, I remembered how to speak again.

I shook my head, transfixed on the darkness far ahead of us. “No, Signor,” I said, my whispered words carried away with a passing hiss of wind. “I thought we had just pulled through the worst of it.”

“You and the captain both. He’s seen't all, too. Seen't all.”

We're Back, and Ready for Round Two!

John C. Reilly in Magnolia.

Oh, I love that quote. "We're back, and ready for round two!" It's from Magnolia, and kicks off the second half of a film that has a surprisingly spiritual heartbeat to it. Okay, maybe not spiritual. Religious? There are constant references to the Exodus chapter of the Bible, accented by a very froggy conclusion. In the beginning, we meet a slew of characters that were once in complete control of their lives, and even some of the lives around them. We see them fall apart in a bubble of denial, rebellion, and eventual understanding. Of course, it takes something cataclysmic for them to reach that point, it takes a seeming act of God.

Or is the implication of a fed up "God's act" merely a coincidence? The film implies that it could be both.

Julianne Moore and Jason Robards in Magnolia

I never really considered a similarity between Magnolia and "The Anchoress". The two do have a lot in common; there are characters religious, spiritual, and not so much either one of those that are in the end changed by a moment bigger than their collected beliefs and disbeliefs. But, I have always seen the book as a love letter to The Mission and The Exorcist. As well as my general fascination with South American rain forests, which I wholly blame on Pregny International School. I went to this school when I lived in Switzerland, and rain forest preservation was right up there with learning about Shel Silverstein.

Jeremy Irons in The Mission


Linda Blair in The Exorcist

I've never really seen myself as incredibly religious, or even totally spiritual. I have reached epiphanies and ecstasies in my life that felt beyond me, but I have never really attributed these moments to God, more-so to nature, to how freakish life can sometimes be. There is something there, however, something that keeps trying to tug me back to synagogue, something that made me live in the shoes of a more than religious, more than spiritual initiate nun for a month. I do not think I will ever get the answer to this otherwise indescribable "tug", but the spiritual world is definitely interesting to me. Especially when it comes to angels and devils, which was something I wanted to explore in "The Anchoress".

In any case, "The Anchoress" is back and ready for round two. I took a break after NaNoWriMo to focus on a previous project I had left unattended before November. Now that the second draft of that has been fired off to my writing partner, Christine, I can focus again on "The Anchoress". Helping me return to the book was my boyfriend, Andy, and my good friend, Kara. They did this for my birthday.


I was a little surprised.

The Author in shock.

And, in fact, very inspired. Not only was it cool as all get-out that my story was a hardback I could touch, it was great to have this kind of support. Kara gave me a CD of goodies that would help me on the road to realizing "The Anchoress". This last week has been spent reading through it, noting what needed changing, what worked, what didn't work, what was tacky, what was actually pretty damn good. Not only that, but I spat out a new first chapter that will be posted very soon.

I hope, those of you who read this, will enjoy the journey that Nieve and I will be embarking on. My ultimate goal with "The Anchoress" is publication. Let's see if we can make this happen. Those of you who do read this, any and all feedback, suggestion, criticism, support is welcomed. This support is appreciated and respected, and I hope you - my very few, but very loved! - enjoy this journey as much as I do.

Stay tuned, the new first chapter will be posted within the next couple days!

Image of Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta