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Chapter Twelve

Yara tripped, stumbled then landed face-first on the muddy ground. Again.

“For Hiad’s sake, Yara,” Yuma-ci scoffed, towering above her. She had a tight grip on the rope holding Yara prisoner. “You’ve denied your roots so much that a simple walk in the jungle wears you down?”

The other five women chuckled as if rehearsed. They were younger than Yuma-ci, and by the way they followed the female warrior’s commands, they idolized her like groupies.

Yara pushed up to her feet and adjusted the tight rope around her wrists and neck. The powerful Angel’s Trumpet twines digging into her skin were not only virtually unbreakable but also had a natural hallucinogen that seeped through her flesh, making Yara lose her grip on reality and see things that weren’t there
–
like that pink unicorn in front of her. She knew she needed to fight the poison, to make her mind see through its traitorous illusions, so she could call her panther forth and escape, but it was easier said than done. She could feel her feline inmã resting soundly. Damned animal. She had to get her head in the right place before they reached the water witches’ settlement.

“Come on, lazy mule!” one of the women sneered then shoved Yara in the back. “I wanna get home in time for supper.”

“Screw supper!” the girl walking beside Yuma-ci added. Yara noticed she wore a beautiful anklet made of twisted vines, with small drops of gold. “I wanna
get home to show Mother what got caught in the net.”

“Me too, Poti,” her cousin replied, and glanced back at Yara. Pure loathing caked her brown eyes. “Mother will be very happy to see today’s quarry.”

After a good hour of torment, Yara was ready to punch those bitches into the gates of Hiad. Hallucinogen or no hallucinogen, family or no family, she’d slit their fucking throats and feed them to the crocodiles. But deep inside, her heart was throbbing in her chest.
Would
the Mothers be happy to see her back? Or would they shun her like the others? Like they did before? She swallowed dry and pushed away those unwanted thoughts. She had learned not to expect anything from her family a long time ago. She had learned her lesson. No good could come from feeding ridiculous dreams now.

The narrow path opened out onto a large clearing, and a lake with bright green waters appeared in front of Yara. Immense water lilies covered its entire surface, adorning it with pink, white and yellow flowers.

The Emerald Lake.

Even though it had been decades since she was last here, Yara recognized the main entrance to the water witches’ realm instantly. Her mind was immediately flooded by old memories
–
her mother’s scorn, her sisters’ disdain, the hours of intense labor as punishment for having wanted something different, for having wanted Pedro. Oh, sweet Pedro.

Yara swallowed away the wave of sadness, and shoved the painful images back into the depths of her mind.

“Pavuna para-mochu. Medu-dita, Medu-passa,” Yuma-ci pronounced the sacred words, as she reached the edge of the lake.

Lake of emerald waters, let your children live, let your children pass.

Green waves stirred the lagoon’s peaceful surface. Invisible hands churned the waters, making strong currents spin around, building momentum at every cycle. Suddenly, a whirlpool appeared in the middle of the lake. Yuma-ci stepped forward and crossed the threshold between solid ground and fluid water, but she didn’t sink. The lake had turned into an emerald carpet, providing safe passage to its children.

Her cousin stopped by the edge of the whirlpool, turned around and pulled Yara’s leash, forcing her to stumble forward. “Welcome home, dear cousin,” she snarled, then jumped into the churning vortex, dragging Yara with her.

Yara fell into the massive toboggan and tried her best to keep her body off the waters, careful not to touch the enormous tray-like leaves supporting the water-lilies. It was sacrilege to do so. And even though she had long renounced her roots, she wasn’t going to disrespect her ancestors. As she slid down into the whirlpool, she crossed her arms on her chest and forced her breathing to quiet down. It didn’t take long for the magical waters of the Emerald Lake to engulf her completely, nurturing her inmã, giving back her strength and much more. They were known as water witches because her kind needed the magic of the Lake to survive, and to feed their powers. The Emerald Lake was like medicine for them. Yara had learned
that
lesson the hard way. She had seen her powers slowly vanish over the decades she had stayed away. Touching or bathing in any fresh water would help a bit, but her powers only emerged at full blast when she called on her panther – which was quite ironic considering the curse that locked her animal in her forever had been intended as punishment. Little had her Mothers known that their curse had been Yara’s ultimate ticket out of there.

She closed her eyes and let herself indulge in the surge of magic coursing through her veins. Ai, Apa Dobrý, how had she missed this. She used to love coming back to their realm after a long day of hunting and being immediately invigorated by those magical waters, being welcomed by her family. Not this time, though. There would be no warm hugs, no tears of joy. There had been so much hatred in the months before she left, so much resentment.

Yuma-ci’s war cry echoed in the liquid tunnel and was answered by the others
–
a signal to the tribe at the other end of the vortex.

Suddenly, the toboggan narrowed down, indicating the end of the trip was near. Yara held her breath. As the water swallowed her entire body, she felt a powerful current pull her, but instead of down, up she went. When she felt herself emerge and warm air hit her skin, she dared to open her eyes.

The Emerald Lake was no more, and in its place there was an amazing aqua-marine lagoon with sparkling yellow shore. Yara didn’t know what to feel. Her mind was at full speed, buzzing with her fully charged powers, but at the same time, her heart drummed like a carnival parade in her chest. This
was
her home, where she came from, her origins, but she couldn’t deny the overwhelming wave of feelings assaulting her
–
sorrow, sadness, anticipation, hope – they all churned inside her like a washing machine.

She let out a long sigh and flapped her feet forward toward the yellow sand. Tall trees of different shades of blue could be seen ahead. Their mushroom-style canopies provided shelter for travelers who entered the water witches’ realm. Yara remembered the countless times she and Yuma-ci had laid there, under those trees, watching the sunset. That same bitch who was now pulling her by the neck, like a slave. For the tenth time, Yara lost her balance and stumbled down on the sand.

“Pull that rope one more time,” Yara snarled low, “and I’ll rip your head off with my bare hands, Yuma-ci.”

Her cousin’s throat worked up and down, and a hint of fear flashed across her eyes. Her groupies stopped to watch their exchange.

Just like that, Yuma-ci’s fear was quickly masked by contempt. “You’re gonna rip my head off with what hands, Yara? You have paws, cousin,
paws
that can barely scratch an itch.” Then she bent down and clasped Yara’s neck. Yara could smell her breath, so close they were from each other. “I must admit, I never thought you’d be stupid enough to show your face back here, Opelia.”

Yara swallowed a wince at the mention of her enforced title – Opelia.
The traitor.
Unable to stop herself, Yara pulled her claws out and lunged forward.

“Yuma-ci!” the girl named Poti screamed.

Groupies are great. They give their life to save their idol’s reputation even though the aforementioned icon is a low-life bitch of a cousin.

Five pairs of hands grabbed Yara and pulled her off Yuma-ci.

Yuma-ci bared her teeth at Yara, but didn’t attack back. She stood up and resumed their walk.

Poti ran after her and tried to clean the blood dripping off Yuma-ci’s face, but her lovely cousin just dismissed the girl like a fly. What a great leader she was.

A few yards ahead, Poti stopped and waved her hand. The thick blue forest opened out like a natural curtain and a vast clearing emerged. In the middle stood the most amazing housing structure the creatures of Apa Sâmbetei would ever encounter. Set in different elevated levels, the hundreds of tree dwellings were intertwined by endless corridors and bridges made of wood, bamboo shoots and vines. Hundreds of women bustled up and down, and across, going about their daily chores. As tradition dictated, no members of the male gender could be found among the water witches. They were a society of women, powerful warriors who didn’t need men to enslave them, to beat them into submission.

The ground level was kept free of structures – no Water Witch would be foolish enough to build her abode where a jaguar or anaconda could reach with ease. Jungle Survival 101, lesson two: the higher you could build your home, the less unwanted visitors you’d get knocking on your door.

Yara looked around and took a deep breath. Nothing had changed in all those decades she’d been gone. The path to their sacred crops was at the far left, just beyond the small pond with drinkable water. To the right, the three trees of Destiny stood, casting a mighty shadow down on the village. They were the heart, mind and soul of their race. Legends claimed that the trees were planted by the three great witches of all times – The Soartas themselves, the owners of destiny. Thus, all the ceremonies and rituals at the water witches’ realm were conducted around and for the trees. Some witches claimed that after eating the trees’ rare fruits, they were gifted with a glimpse of their future. Personally, Yara thought they were full of bull. In all her life, never had she seen the trees do anything extraordinary. Deep inside, she had always suspected her Mothers used the trees and their tale to keep the witches under their thumb. And just like everything else, it never worked on Yara.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on the socio-psychology of tribal life; it was time to face the present – and the several curious faces staring at her from the wooden balconies above.

She released a long sigh and followed Yuma-ci and her band of sisters across the main square. One by one, the witches stopped in their tracks to watch the newcomer in chains. Yuma-ci led the way up four levels and across the dwellings, deeper into the maze of floating houses. The mob followed them, growing thicker at every turn. Soon, the entire community filled the open-air walkways around them.

Finally, Yuma-ci stopped in front of an arched door. Its ancient surface was decorated by intricately carved symbols of protection and power. She knocked once and stepped back. Poti stood close behind, like a sentry. She reminded Yara of a younger Yuma-ci. Not because the two women shared similar features, no, it was because she made Yara recall how her cousin used to always guard
her
back, and turn away anyone who dared come close, friend or foe.

The heavy oak door creaked open and a tall woman with smooth olive skin and long grey braids emerged. Yara’s heart skipped a beat.

Mother Nepú.

In the realm of the water witches there were no men – no husbands, no fathers, no brothers. Just the women were allowed in, and male sons were either disposed of or abandoned in the human villages. Their female-only society was governed by a council of three of their eldest women, called The Mothers. When a Mother died, the eldest one in the tribe was sworn into her place. Bloodlines were of no weight in the selection of the new Mother, mainly because a baby was brought up by the entire community, so your biological mother was just one of many in the group. But Yara knew very well who her true mother was. They shared a rare gift, even for the water witches – the gift of shape shifting.

Mother Nepú’s disapproving glare landed on Yara. Her eyes widened in surprise – and something else that tugged straight at Yara’s heart –
affection?
But the flitting warmth was quickly replaced by cold disdain.

“We found the Opelia roaming around our crops, stealing our sacred fruits,” Yuma-ci proclaimed, as if addressing the entire community.

Two other women stepped out of the chamber. Yara immediately recognized them both. The one with long braids that touched the ground was Mother Censa. The other one had her braids rolled up onto a high bun. Isha was Mother Nepú’s twin sister but had only been awarded the honorable place among the leaders when Mother Neide died.

Sadness engulfed Yara’s heart with the memories of Mother Neide’s inmã joining their ancestors in the Emerald Lake.

“Well, well, so the prodigal daughter returns,” Mother Nepú drawled sarcastically. But any hint of amusement vanished from her face as she turned to one of the sisters behind Yara. “Set up the cell.”

At her orders, the girl rushed away.

Yara cursed silently. If she were thrown in the cell, there would be no way out.

“Wait!” Yara struggled against the tight rope. “I didn’t come here for your crops. I was going to take only from the human’s.”

“How dare you shower us in more deceit, Opelia?” Yuma-ci asked.

Yara glared at her. A ghost of a smirk crossed her cousin’s lips. Bitch.

“
You
are the liar, Yuma-ci, I wasn’t even near the path to the sacred crops when
you
took me off my path and brought me here. The other sisters can vouch for what I’m saying.”