I took a deep breath. The air smelled of grass and pine, of horse sweat and leather. It smelled of freedom. Over the repetitive call of the crickets, invisible birds were singing.
Flecha neighed. I pressed my legs, and her supple body turned at my command. Leaving the road I had followed so far, I headed west, toward the Forbidden Lands.
At first the woods seemed no different from the ones that flanked the highway. But little by little, trees became scarcer and were replaced by shrubs and bracken until finally, after a steady climb, I reached a plateau, a raised land that ended abruptly over sharp cliffs that plummeted to the sea. In front of me over the ocean, where the sun had been, the sky was burning red, orange, and purple, turning Athos the golden moon into a ball of fire.
Flecha neighed again, and the sound echoed in the distance like a warning. I shivered. “Let’s go, Flecha. We must hurry. We have to reach Forcarei before Father’s men.”
I pressed Flecha’s flanks, and at a fast canter, we continued north following a winding path along the coast. But before long, big boulders, still and menacing like giants turned to stone, blocked our way. Flecha reared.
I stroked her neck to calm her down and dismounted. Holding her reins, I stepped on the narrow ledge left between the rocks and the cliffs. Flecha reluctantly followed. We strode thus for a while, my eyes on the gravel to avoid taking a false step, until Flecha, letting out a loud snort, pulled at the reins and refused to go farther.
“Come on, Flecha. What is it now?” Tearing my eyes from the slippery ground, I looked up. What I saw was not encouraging.
Before me, the coastline had lost its battle against the ocean and receded inland to form a small bay. Except for a huge rock carved like an arch, which appeared to be still fighting the pull of the water, the cove was covered by the tide. Up the cliffs, where I was standing, the ledge we had been following didn’t turn with the coast to surround the cove, but continued straight, took a deep descent, and disappeared. We couldn’t go on. Still I hesitated. It didn’t make sense. Paths are supposed to lead somewhere. They cannot just vanish.
My hands firmly on the reins, I looked to my right, trying to find a way to get around the cove, but the boulders, impressive and bare, formed an insurmountable wall.
“You are right, Flecha. We have to go back.”
I was still talking when, over the roar of the waves breaking against the rocks, I heard a rumbling noise—like horses galloping. Down at the cove, the solitary arch I had noticed before seemed to fade away, and the water at its base withdrew as if caught in a whirlpool. Under my feet, the ground shook.
Flecha neighed in fear and reared, pulling at the bridle. Just as I turned to hold her still, I saw a dark form emerging from the broken rock in the cove. For a moment, I froze. Again Flecha pulled, and the leather ran through my fingers, burning them. I screamed in pain and let go of the reins so suddenly I fell backward. I heard Flecha’s hooves against the ground, and I knew I had lost her. But I did not have time to worry about her. Under my weight, the gravel cracked and scratched my legs as I slid faster and faster down the broken trail that ended right where the cliffs began.
2
The Forbidden Lands
Brambles and bushes flashed by my side. I tried to grasp them. But they escaped through my fingers, leaving only their thorns in my scratched skin.
Blinded by pain, I screamed. Suddenly, over the cracking noise of loose gravel, I heard the sound of cloth tearing. Then I felt a strong pull on my legs, and I stopped moving.
I lay on my back, my whole body hurting, my head hanging over the edge of the cliffs. Down, down below, I could hear the roar of the waves breaking against the rocks and the cries of the seagulls fighting for food. I stayed still, barely breathing, waiting for my rescuer to help me up. No one came.
Slowly I raised my head. The sky was burning in a shimmering fire as Lua, the copper moon, rose from behind the boulders. For a moment I just stared, awed by its majestic beauty. But soon the pain of my beaten body reminded me of my dangerous predicament, and lifting my head as far as I could, I looked at my feet. Nobody was there. This didn’t make any sense. Someone had grabbed my feet.
I squinted my eyes against the glow of the full moon and searched the ledge. No one was in sight. I shivered as the old stories of strange creatures that lived in the Forbidden Lands rushed to my mind. Were they true after all? It was then I heard the cracking sound of rocks falling; someone was climbing up the cliffs. I remembered the shadow I had seen emerging through the arch, and again I shivered.
I had to get out of there, and fast. Trying not to think of the ocean-beaten rocks below me, I lifted myself to a sitting position. But when I tried to crawl forward away from the cliffs, my skirts caught in a bush, holding me back. Suddenly I understood. It had not been a person but my long dress that had stopped my fall. How ironic, I thought, that my lady outfit had saved my life, when I was running away from all that it represented.
“Thank you, Mother,” I said aloud and meant it. After all, she was the one who had insisted on my always wearing a gown for supper.
Once more I reached forward and pulled at my skirts. But the thorns pricked at my fingers, fighting for their prey. Over my heavy breathing, the sound of pebbles rolling was getting closer. Frantic, I pulled again and again, until my hands started bleeding. Still the thorns refused to let go.
I had no choice. I tore open the front laces of my bodice, and like a snake shedding its skin, I emerged from my gown. Wearing only my underdress, I ran to the boulders that flanked the ledge and squeezed myself into a crack. Barely breathing, I waited while the steps got louder and louder. Then suddenly they stopped.
After an indefinite time of anguished silence, I leaned forward and peeped through a gap in the rocks. A dark shape was bending over the bush that still held my dress. Although I couldn’t see his face, something in his appearance was vaguely familiar. I was still trying to figure out what it was when the stranger straightened his back and, turning toward me, demanded in a heavily accented voice, “Andrea, would you please come out from wherever it is you are hiding?”
It was my uncle,Tío Ramiro.
I jumped to my feet, staring at him over the boulder. What was my uncle doing here? And more important, how was I to convince him not to tell Father he had seen me?
Tío Ramiro came over. “Hello, Andrea. It’s always nice to see you, too.” With a bow, he offered me his hand to help me climb over the rock.
I shook my head. “I don’t have a dress,Tío.”
Tío smiled. “Of course,” he said. Sharply, he slid the strange jacket he was wearing over his head, handing it to me with a mock bow.
I held the garment in my hands. It was blue and tightly knitted in a soft material I had never seen before. Bright yellow letters on the front formed words I didn’t understand. After a slight hesitation, I put it on and climbed the boulder.
Once more,Tío was kneeling by the bush. When I got closer, I realized he was cutting the thorns with a little knife. With a pull of his free hand, he lifted the dress. “I got it,” he said and, getting up, faced me.
I stared in amazement. Several pebbles similar to my fourholed lucky charm formed a straight line down the front of his shirt.
“What’s wrong, Andrea?” As Tío talked, he made the blade of the small knife disappear into its red handle with a sharp movement of his hand.
I gasped. “What is that?” I asked, pointing at his hand.
Tío hesitated. Then he shrugged. As quickly as it had vanished, the blade reappeared in his palm. “It’s only a knife,” he said. He handed it to me.
The blade was sharp only on one side; a thin crack ran along the other. The handle was . . . different. Memories of the wondrous gifts Tío Ramiro used to give me when I was a child rushed to my mind—toys made of soft materials that bent without breaking, books that talked when I touched them, musical boxes that didn’t need to be rewound. I would play with them many happy days until one night they would vanish from my room. When in the morning I begged Ama to give them back to me, she would insist I had been dreaming.