Free To the Edge of the World by Michele Torrey Page B

Tell me what happened.”
    “That marine, Minchaca. He was going to hurt Aysó.”
    “Aysó? Who is Aysó?” asked Espinosa.
    “She is a girl. A woman, I mean.” I felt myself flush.
    “This Aysó, you were with her?” asked Magallanes.
    “Aye, Captain-General.”
    “I see. And Minchaca?”
    “The two of them came to take me back to the ship. But Minchaca wanted to stay behind. I knew he was going to hurt her.” Now I looked at both of them. “I saw it in his eyes. Please believe me.”
    “Did he touch her?” asked Magallanes.
    “No, but he was going to.”
    “Did he harm her in any way?”
    Again I lowered my head, shaking it. It is useless, I realized. They will never believe me. For I am a liar and a spy and they no longer trust me.
    “So you attacked him,” asked Magallanes, “although he did not lay a hand on her?”
    “Upon my word, Captain-General, he was going to. I told you, I saw it in his eyes.”
    Magallanes glanced at Espinosa, then sighed heavily. “You leave us no choice, Mateo.”
    “Aye.”
    He limped to the door and opened it slowly. Minchaca and Segrado stood at attention, waiting. “He is to have a dozen lashes, plus five days in the stocks. Minimum rations.” Then he stepped aside as Minchaca and Segrado entered the cabin to take me away.
    The next day was Christmas.
    I heard the hymns. Heard the padre. Felt the movement of men around me. I endured their stares, heard their whispers.
    A blackness deeper than I’d ever known suffocated me, greater even than the pain of my flogging. It was as if I were buried alive, dirt seeping into my ears, my eyes, my nostrils, my mouth. Weight crushing my chest.
    Aysó was gone.
    I was gone.
    I knew I would never see her again, for the armada would move out to sea as soon as Christmas ended. Yet there was one bright spot I clung to, a golden lantern in a storm of blackness. Even though I would never see Aysó again, I had rescued her from Minchaca.
    Aysó was safe.
    I would cling to this forever, through all the storms to come, perhaps even death at the hands of monsters or cannibals, perhaps even dropping off the edge of the world. Aysó was safe.
    Then, like the ocean at the change of tide, my thoughts turned again and my blackness deepened. I remembered both Espinosa and Magallanes. Their probing stares, their disappointment in me. The captain-general still thought me a liar and a spy, and yet this time I had done nothing wrong. It was not fair! Nothing was fair! I would have pounded my fist in frustration and rage, but the stocks held me tight, pinning me like a rat in a trap. And Espinosa? He had trusted me, brought me on this journey when I had nowhere to go, nothing to eat. Now I had sorely disappointed him.
    I vowed to kill Minchaca. It was my right. My honor. He would be sorry for the day he laid a fist on Mateo Macías de Ávila!
    Lost in my ocean of thoughts, I did not realize at first that someone was talking to me. “Mateo,” the voice repeated, “I must speak with you.” It was Espinosa. He squatted in front of me so I had no choice but to see him, then reached up with a muscular arm and brushed my hair from my eyes. I turned my face away. It was he who had flogged me the day before, afterward walking away without a word. I could not bear to look at him. What more was there to say? Were not a flogging and punishment in the stocks enough? Could he not see my shame? My rage? Did he not hate me now for disappointing him?
    Then, before I could stop myself, I said, “I’m thirsty.”
    He returned with a cup of water. He held my head while I drank. It was difficult to drink, to throw my head back far enough. I could not use my arms, for they were locked in the stockade along with my neck. Water dribbled down my chin. Waves of pain pulsed through my back.
    “I must know,” whispered Espinosa. “Is it true? What you have said?”
    I nodded. “Aye.”
    “You were defending a woman?”
    “Aye. They beat me when I helped her to