The Sound of Many Waters Read Online Free Page B

scooped out the coins, threw them into the cascading surf, and fell upon the body so heavily that some of Juan’s ribs cracked. Guttural sobs emerged from somewhere deep within Dominic—sounds he could not restrain and up to now was un a ware his body could even produce. As he wept, the shadow of a person appeared beside his own. It grew larger and then the two shadows merged. He turned and saw what looked like a man in a dark robe silhouetted against the sun.
    Dominic squinted. “Who are you?”
    The man raised a short, thick oak branch and swung it down against the side of Dominic’s head. Everything blurred and withered to black.
    …………………………
    Dominic now felt certain the ants would kill him. They attacked his head, biting the insides of his nostrils and crawling into his ears. The lower part of his body had gone numb, his joints had swollen into horrid knobs, and a growing tension in his chest made it difficult to breathe. Once again he heard a voice but he could not discern any of the words. He could o n ly tell that it was a male voice, one with the fragility of an e l der.
    “Help me,” Dominic wheezed. “Help me or for God’s sake kill me.”
    Two hands shoved him and he had the sensation of rolling down a hill. His body slapped into warm, glutinous liquid. Fully submerged, he twisted around, unsure of up from down, trying to find air with his face like an infant emerging from its mother. Dominic’s body yearned to breathe but he knew that even one inhalation meant death. Perhaps drowning like his son was a fitting end, but he had no desire to meet a God he despised. He could hardly fight the urge to inhale but his anger drove him on for a few more seconds, and he felt the hands again. This time they fumbled across his body until they gripped his torso and dragged him up a muddy incline.
    He inhaled deeply; the air tasted of charred oak, and when the hands released him, he heard the crackling of a fire and felt its warmth. As he lay there savoring every smoky breath, he realized that the ants were gone. Their scorching bites remained, though, like tiny embers that refused to expire. Then he heard bones creaking and a sigh, as if an old body had just sat beside him.
    “Identify yourself,” Dominic implored. “Why do you torture me?”
    A long pause ensued, and then came a coarse voice. “ Purificación .”
    The response startled Dominic—it was in his own language. “Purification? God damn you, I am a commander in the king’s—”
    “The ants opened you,” interrupted the voice. “The waters cleansed you, and now the smoke is sealing you anew.”
    “You will be arrested for treason. Who are you? I demand that you—”
    “I am a protector. Rest now. Rest in the smoke.”
    Who was this man who talked so strangely? Was he one of his crew members, exacting revenge for something that Dominic had done in the past? Impossible. They were all dead and he had even counted the bodies on the beach. None were missing. The man spoke in a dialect similar to his own but his accent and the words he used sounded foreign, like a person from another time. No one on the ship had spoken so, and the only Spanish settlement in La Florida —San Agustín—was several hundred miles to the north. Aside from natives, only a d e serter or a madman would reside in such fetid wilderness.
    “Why am I tied?” Dominic asked, but no answer came and the heat of the fire coaxed him into a light sleep. He dreamt of Juan, five years old and feeding monkeys at the jungle edge, and then of gold flecks glinting in a mine.
    “Awake,” said the voice, and Dominic did. His sinuses saturated with smoke and ash, he tried to determine how long he had been sleeping. His eyes were no longer swollen; he opened them. Everything was blurry but he could see the orange glow of the fire set against a brooding darkness.
    “Please know that I was once as you are,” said the voice, “covered in the filth of my past