Chapter two
A flash of lighting ripped through the churning black clouds. The thunderclap that jolted Heather into awareness almost deafened her. She was sweating though the air was cold. Heather and her captors had been traveling in the mountains of Sunny Haven on the island of Conceicao since the evening before. They were now making their way towards the pass that would take them to valley below and into the capital city. Heather found herself tied into a saddle on the back of a large black horse. A thundering crash of lighting nearby caused Heather’s horse to bolt, nearly throwing her to the ground, but one of her guards caught the reins, steadying the terrified animal.
For an unknown time she had been in shock at the brutal slaughter of her people. Then for days she had ridden, mourning and grieving, unit her captors gagged her. Yet she still moaned, bound and swaying in the saddle. Throughout, the Spanish exhibited no concern, except to see that she ate once a day. Except when eating, they kept her bound, even when she slept. She had no interest in their care for her, or lack of it, but eventually realized she was alive only because Norinton had ordered her safe arrival in Conceicao. Now she shuddered at the thought that he fully intended to keep her as his own prized possession once the English islands were defeated. But she would never allow him to realize his desires, no matter what she had to do in order to deny them.
Somewhere in the horror of the past few days, Heather’s courage, stripped bare, had hardened like a rock, and she had come to a grim decision. Fleetingly she wondered about her father. But she no longer allowed herself the right to worry about him, despite the fact that Norinton had indicated that he too would soon be a prisoner of the Spanish. She was already a prisoner – and she was going to need all her energies to survive. Worrying about her father would do neither of them good right now.
They had been descending the mountains for several hours. Finally they reached level ground and began to make their way along the side of a large river, which would lead them to the fort. The lighting continued in the distance as the sky grew darker and darker. Now dead ahead rose the hideous black fort, its monstrous size growing more apparent.
Heather shuddered. As uncomfortable as it was, she knew what to expect from her captivity. But beyond was the general himself. Beyond was the legendary monster who had aroused such tales of horror that she dare not think of them. The past several years of her life had been directed towards this end, towards the confronting General Castillo. She had envisioned herself standing defiantly before him, beside her father, the two of them at last facing this demon of death. But she had never imagined she would be brought before him as a helpless captive.
Closer rose the black mass of the fort. A flash of lightning illuminated the scene for an instant. The entire structure was made of stone, streaked with age. Atop two towers, which flanked the gate, were giant cannons the likes of which Heather had never seen. The iron gates began to slide apart, rumbling on there tracks. Her captors spurred their mounts forward and into the black opening.
The gates closed behind them and they were immersed in total darkness. A feeling of suffocation and panic overcame Heather. Commander Elsilo shouted a command, and before them a crack of light appeared. A gate directly ahead of them rumbled on its tracks and Heather found herself staring up at the tower that stood at the center of the fort.
Surrounded by her captors, she started threw the gate and into the fort. Heather stared about. None of the experiences of her young life had anyway prepared her for the grinding oppression that filled this dark place. What filled the main courtyard were hundreds upon hundreds of moving forms, crowding every level of the fort. Crowds of mercenaries shouted abusively and poked at Heather as she rode by, while huge guards stared at her with dulled eyes. The press of bodies was so close that her captors had to continually kick and push the crowds out of their way. All around were the incredible war machines of General Castillo, standing like gigantic, steel monsters. All about the machines were the slaves: male and female, English and French. They moved the ponderous machines into place along the fort walls. Their bodies were filthy and covered with sweat, despite the cold of this place. And all the while they were beaten, whipped, and cursed. Despite the abuse they moved sluggishly, slowly, barely able to extract anything further from their tortured half-starved bodies, barely able to breathe the air, heavy with the reek of soot and sulphur. Gunpowder was being made here, and lots of it. Heather saw that they had the children carrying the heavy bags of it up the ramps along the fort walls.
Heather’s mind was numbed by the cold and the crowding and the stench, overwhelmed by the constant screeching abrasion of metallic objects scrapping against stone and steel; by the sharp cracks of the whips, the brutal commands, and the accompanying cries of pain. Heather was now at the end of her wits.
Having crossed the courtyard to the tower, Heather was pulled from her horse. Facing her was the large tower at the center of the fort, and a massive door, that was its entrance. Once again iron doors rumbled open. Surrounded by her captors, she entered the stronghold of General Castillo.