Captive Spirit by Liz Fichera Read Free Book Online

white bones in perfect unison. The animal bones became sinewy extensions of their arms. Each heavy drumbeat pierced the air like thunder, silencing all other sounds. Everyone around the fire began to clap, slow and steady like the drumbeats.
    Thump, thump, thump.
    Thump, thump, thump.
    The claps became louder with each steady drumbeat, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickled.
    One by one, each girl who held one of Chitsa’s ceremony sticks stood before her families and slowly began to pivot in small circles around the fire, shaking her stick to the steady beat of the drums. The hiss from each stick added to the music of the drumbeat. Each girl became a new layer to the dance.
    The first to stand was Dyani and a breath lodged deep in my throat. I watched as Honovi’s eyes followed her as she began her dance around the fire. Why is he ignoring me? What have I done? Why won’t he look at me?
    But then, as if knowing that I watched him as much as Dyani, Honovi finally turned and locked his eyes onto mine from across the fire. Oddly, I felt relief. I smiled at him, just a tiny one, not enough for anyone but us to notice. Honovi nodded and my chest felt lighter. If only my feet felt the same way.
    When it came my turn to join the dance, my knees wobbled and my head spun, but I took a deep breath and pulled my shoulders back. I would not disappoint Gaho and Ituha. I tried to beam at their expectant faces while failing miserably to ignore the clapping and the drumbeats that kept perfect time with the pounding inside my head. I worried that my feet were as tangled as my thoughts. I tried to focus on not tripping into the fire.
    And so, I began my Dance of Womanhood by pivoting in slow, tiny circles like the other girls, shaking my stick to each drumbeat. To concentrate, I narrowed my eyes till they were tiny slits. It was less frightening that way. The pebbles hissed like a snake inside my deerskin pouch, a warning to evil spirits to keep their distance as I began the Dance of Womanhood. The tips of my sandals dug into the dirt with each pivot. To keep from hyperventilating, I pretended that I was somewhere else, even someone else, a girl with wings who could fly over the mountains surrounding our village. My arms finally began to feel lighter, even as the drumbeats grew heavier.
    Thump, thump, thump.
    Thump, thump, thump.
    Soon, the drumbeats became so loud that they even silenced the clapping.
    The closer we pivoted around the fire, the hotter my cheeks became. Around and around the fire we danced, once circle after another. Our feet had to pivot faster to keep up with the drumbeats. My head felt dizzy from all of the spinning and pivoting, but there were always helpful hands pushing me back into the circle, always back into the center.
    Faster and faster, the drumbeats thundered around my ears. I pivoted and twirled so fast that I only saw flashes of faces and light through my eyelashes—Gaho’s smile, Ituha’s eyes, Eyota’s gleaming teeth, even Honovi’s serious expression. All of the colors around me—black, yellow, orange, red—blended into a single color, like the colors right before the sun disappears before night. And then the crescendo of the drumbeats finally melted with the clapping and the hissing from our ceremonial sticks until there wasn’t a sky full of sounds but a single one. We were one people, one color, one sound.
    And then, as if Hunab Ku himself lowered his gentle hand over the entire village, silence fell upon the circle. My eyes were dry when I finally opened them. And when they opened, a circle of men stood around us wearing masks made of dark-red clay and dried leaves. My chin pulled close to my neck, confused, as my head still spun from all the dancing.
    What is this? I asked myself, blinking hard, trying to focus. I searched the villagers’ faces seated around us until my eyes found Gaho. What is happening? I asked her with my eyes.
    But Gaho’s face was expressionless. She did not