Read The Witch Narratives: Reincarnation Online
Authors: Belinda Vasquez Garcia
Instead of inhaling Jefe, she devoured him. She threw him on his back, ripping the clothes from his body and writhing against him, moaning. All the while, Jefe was laughing at her.
As for Weeping-Woman, she was not born with the name she now had. It was only after her wedding night that she was renamed. Everyone at the pueblo called her by her name of sadness.
As for Jefe, he had no patience with tears. He now snapped at her, “Quit crying, Woman, and come help me. I know you’re awake, watching my every move like a cow mooning after a bull. Being married to you is like having my neck in a noose. Bring some raw meat.”
Her moccasins rubbed against the dirt floor as she followed Jefe. The moonlight illuminated her hips that were wide from childbirth. She limped, the result of being crippled by polio, a disease even her father had been unable to cure, although Storm-Chaser was able to use his powers so she did not end up in a wheelchair nor with braces on her legs.
The moonlight was not kind to her narrow face. She may have been pretty if her bones did not protrude from her cheeks. She was gaunt from a near-starvation diet, a self-imposed fast. Her long hair hung in strings to her buttocks. Streaks of grey dominated her head. Even though her face was unlined, there was weariness about her, making her appear a decade older than her thirty years. She had no appetite for life, but if she was dead, her son Flaco would be at the mercy of Jefe and Two-Face. Jefe was disappointed his son was not as strong as Two-Face. Two-Face was jealous of Flaco because she yearned to be the son Jefe always longed for.
He devoured the raw meat. She stared like she was comatose, hiding her feelings of disgust at the specks of blood on his face and chest.
He handed his bloody knife to her. “Clean it!”
“What have you done now, Demon?” she said, biting her tongue for speaking. With any luck, Jefe was too weak to notice her lapse. How taxing, having to pretend she was still under the control of his love spell. He must never discover that her father reversed his spell, at her urging. She must survive. For her son. For the baby, Anjelica, a child who was not hers, but still she loved the beautiful girl.
He flung his arm out, slapping her. Her head spun, and she noticed the tipi-moon teetering on the mountain top. She opened her eyes wide at Jefe.
“Yes, Woman,” he spat, “The great witch has returned to the people, but he will not gain more power than me.”
“The babies,” she said, holding a hand to her mouth to keep from vomiting. “The blood on the knife, so pure, not yet tainted with trials and tribulations of life.”
“And I will go out tomorrow night, and the next night, and the next until I have visited all the pueblos.” He lifted the blanket to the opening of their hogan and slapped it shut behind him.
She wiped clean the blood from his knife with her skirt. She then burned her bloodied skirt.
She rocked on her knees before the open fire with her arms wrapped around her waist. “And a crying will be heard among the pueblos, the like of which has not been heard since the massacre by the white man. The Rio Grande will run crimson with the blood of innocence. So it is written. So it shall be.”
The tipi cloud folded its flap around the moon, pitching New Mexico into darkness.
B
elinda Vasquez Garcia is a former Software Engineer and Web Developer. She holds a Bachelor’s degree in Applied Mathematics from the University of New Mexico. She is a native of California and currently splits her time between New Mexico and Florida. She lives with her husband, dog Toby, and cat Shakespeare. She is the author of the
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Witches, Stolen Bones, and Ghosts
http://magicprose.com/witchblog
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