Chapter 10: The natives are...
"Since z'ese proceedings are necessary and unpredictable, I believe I should take over now," Ludwig determined, leaving no room for discussion like always. He stood up to walk to the head of the room by the TV, uprooting Matthias and sending him away from the Nordics to sit in the German's old seat near Veneziano and Gilbert. Both nations were oddly distant right now, but Gilbert at least perked up when he saw who had sat down beside him. "Now, let us zee," Ludwig said, turning to the very first page of the book, order was important, and thereafter skipped the shifty authors' note to find a real page one.
All the nations prepared themselves, tensing for the possibility of some classified secret leaking or another strange dream-like phenomenon.
"It seems z'is one is in Spanisch." Ludwig said after examining the bright red veering letters. He expected a groan from Lovino, but it never arrived, just multiple signs of relief. He continued, "Spain, would you care to read z'is?"
It wasn't really a question.
"Por supuesto, amigo," the bubbly nation said, rising and walking towards him at an aggravatingly carefree pace. Unnoticeably on the way, he gulped nervously. You see, coming to the book was like stepping in front of a firing squad - voluntarily. He didn't know if the information he was about to read aloud would become ammunition used against him.
Perhaps luck was on his side in a way though, for as his hand traced the letters, they came off and stuck to it, looking like fake tattoos, making him unable to read a bit. And completely stupefied. Waving his hand around, he yelped and the letters fell to the floor and table instantly, sucking and looking like weird red decals on them. They enlarged into unreadable scarlet blobs in just the blink of an eyed everyone was left jumping on chairs and yelling at Antonio. Soon, their size was large enough to overtake their vision, encompassing into the red to black transition, and sending them further on their journey.
Next thing Antonio, and all the others, knew, they were enclosed by a canopy of bright, tropical trees. Their feet had hit worn and dusty dirt. It was green all around, but there were some long, vibrant flowers scattered on the ground. From somewhere else, a burning scent mixed violently with the humid air.
This time, there was no shock or confusion. The grim realization of being sent somewhere completely unknown sent a cardiac arrest-inducing shock through every nation. Not only that-
but they had to not only see, but relive their tragic, unbecoming, traumatizing pasts, right?
And who had done this? The majority did not fully believe this to be the result of magic, because magic was most definitely not real, so they were desperately trying to come up with a logical way that this was real. Was is Japan and some new technology? Russia and a hallucinant? Had America drugged them and brought them to come movie set-like place?
Since the book was in Spanish, they decided to gather around Antonio. "Was this you?" was the blunt accusation all of them were using. It got loud fast.
Ludwig, trying to silence everyone, yelled for order. He only managed to take the volume of their words down by a notch. Arthur then stepped forward and held his arm to stop the blonde from saying or getting into any more of an upset stupor. Next, he whistled, a high, glass shattering note, quieting the crowd immediately and maybe blowing a dew eardrums. With a smug smile, he left the rest to the ruffled German. "Yes, danke Britain-"
"Geez, you guys are bad at letting loose. His name is Arthur," Alfred piped up. Ludwig didn't even glance at him and started explaining their situation. He had no care who was behind this, that could come later. Now they just needed to survive.
"Since it seems z'is is no joke, we will have to be more careful…," he said, and would have gone into a strict training and exploring doctrine to go by, if not for the silent group circling all sides of their own.
There were six of them, built solid and tall with bronzed skin. All were men with long primitive spears. And-
"They're all naked?!" Alfred shouted, startling the natives and making them press close. A few scoffed at his reaction and crept certainly closer to the American, though they did not understand his words. Some countries, like Belarus or Denmark, pulled out weapons like knives or axes. Ivan no doubt held his pipe excitedly.
Antonio frowned and stepped forward much to the protest of Lovino and Gilbert's unsaid pleas. The group's fighting stances grew less fierce, but still vigilant.
"Nou vin di yo anyen. Nou vin pou komès," he spoke. The threatening group altogether glaring suspiciously now, but one leader-looking figure with gold necklaces and fancy adornments merely cringed and replied, "Swiv. Si ou trayi nou, tout moun mouri." Antonio nodded grimly and followed, leaving the group to follow him while being in the dark. There weapons were hidden loosely, but the nations allowed themselves to be ordered around; nothing came from fighting back in a situation like this.
They walked till their legs felt like they were made of hot iron; heavy and melting, burning. Ahead, the dark natives seemed unfazed and kept their brisk pace through the forest. No words had been spoken for fear of getting poked by one of those spears.
It wasn't until they broke the cover of flora did they realize how hot it was. The sun felt like it was cooking them, and Arthur mused it was despicably even warmer than Italy.
The whole situation gave Antonio the grim sensation of being drawn taught like a bow. A furious familiarity settled into his bones as he walked into the open area where the natives lived, peering with glassy eyes through the haze of heat. Not only that, his head hurt like nothing else right behind his forehead and on the sides where his hair was matted down with sweat. At the moment, he was just running on adrenaline; pure fear or thrill powered stuff, so nothing was working quite normally.
Although the village was small and mainly empty, the natives had taken them along the forest on a back path to get to their destination. They were forced to walk single file with the sun on one side and clawing bushes tearing at them on the other, but still no one said a peep. All the countries now left their fate into Antonio's hands; and would kill him if anything happened.
By the time they were just considering taking on the guards and knocking them out to escape, it had been a long walk, they had reached the largest circular straw hut surrounding a central plaza and in the back away from the ocean. To Antonio, everything was sore and his heavy breathing hurt his chest with every inhale in. At least inside the room in the shade was a bit cooler. Just a bit.
In the room, the roof, coned-shaped and all straight layers of straw, lay a hammock and a few weapons and pieces of cloth. Towards the back was a man of great stature and deep color surrounded by no less than ten young girls.
Antonio, accompanied by all the nations, had the very violent urge to vomit suddenly. Alfred looked away swiftly while clenching his fists. He was joined by all the Nordics and Matthew and many in becoming quite uncomfortable and edging on reactive.
No one shrank back though, they had all been settlers and visitors (most of the time unwanted) enough to know not to attack their host. Antonio looked him square in the eye. Neither flinched nor moved, even while the girls fiddled with the chief's hair, or as sweat rained down his face in waterfalls. He mouthed the words "kenbe yo an sekirite" and after only a few seconds, they were ushered out quickly from a wave of the chief's hand. All of it was just plain strange. And too fast.
Antonio was just thankful the chief had recognized him and was too preoccupied to ask any questions.
Next thing they knew, all of them were thrown into a hut in the back of the village and away from prying. Antonio was shoved roughly, knocking him sprawling to the ground and off his shaky legs. Gilbert almost punched the person who shoved him. Francis seemed in a stupor today and just replied with a single, vulgar word while his friend complained about the treatment. Many others complained loudly as well, but Felids had passed out before he could even start a rant.
Antonio was not angry at the native though, nor about what had happened.
"So, Antonio, what was that? Do you now where we are?" Elizaveta demanded, wiping a bit of sweat from her forehead once everyone c\had called their heads a bit. He nodded to both.
"We are in Hispaniola mis compañeros. Y, if I am not wrong, it is no bueno tiempo," he said, not answering what happened with the chief, and poking around the space. Pulling out a jug from the corner, he smiled and took a swig of its contents. The stuff burned and tasted like burnt popcorn and lighter fluid, but it eased his headache and his memories of where they were. He kept drinking.
And not long after, there was a scream.
Kiku and Tino looked up sharply, Veneziano dropped the pot he was holding, and Antonio set down the liquor container slowly before stepping out. Francis was the only one who followed him.
Down to the left from the building they occupied, was the ocean, now filled with gigantic, grandiose ships. It was glimmering blue, like the sky on a cloudless day, and they only had to pass ten large huts before they came to the sand. The boats seemed wrong on the clear water.
But they never mad it down there, for the commotion was in the middle of the village, where there was a circular plaza, now crowded with new people. There stood a flurry of expensive clothed men and a native supported by the chief from earlier. The air was murderous, the tension supplied by predatory grins and angered brows.
The group of finely dressed Spaniards, for they were early Spanish people judging form their thick and rich dyed clothes with ruffles and sharp shoes, stood intimidatingly above a boy on the floor.
His hand was covered with red, two fingers were now laying on the ground near the leader of the Spaniards. It seemed like a horrifying painting because of the lack of movement, and the exaggeratedness of the Spaniards grotesque faces. At once the image was ripped to shreds as the leader smiled psychotically before doing the unthinkable; he stomped onto the fingers and ground them into the dust, the blood not even showing on his black boots. All the chief could do was watch, these Spaniards practically owned the natives; like slaves. His gold pendant weighed down like an anchor on his neck.
Antonio almost ran to help the boy. To hit down the sickening man and leave him and the rest of his crew as bloody as the boy's poor hand. He had envisioned doing that so, so many times before. But instead, he merely grit his teeth and walked to the forest.
This scene was not anything new to him.
The boys silent weeping could not reach his ears any longer.
Francis' worry only increased as Antonio smacked a tree hard with his fist for what seemed like the thousandth time after coming back into the forest. His mind was telling him the situation was personal, the forest unbearably hot and filled with bugs, and that he was not meant to be here. The tree gave a great shudder after the left fist shrunk, Francis followed suit. His eyes were dilated and wide open. All of Antonio's motions seemed animalistic; his body was hunched like a feline while his breathing was labored, showing his bared teeth, and his hands held like talons onto the trunk. Slowly and cautiously, Francis outstretched his hand to put on his friend's back.
The reaction was instantaneous. Antonio's body unhinged and he grabbed his arm, throwing him to the ground and bending his arm over his back while he pinned him down. Still, Antonio did nothing more and just sat breathing heavy. Francis just laid there nervously and aching for his arm to be released. He didn't notice the tiny drips of water falling onto his back.
Unlike the previous exchange, Antonio got up in almost slow motion. There was a steady stream of tears going down his face and creating clear paths across his grimy cheeks.
"Sale amigo," he got out somehow even, letting Francis bolt away, ashamed but relieved.
Por supuesto, amigo (Spanish) - Of course, buddy
Danke (German) - Thank you
Nou vin di yo anyen. Nou vin pou komès (Haitan Creole) - We have been told nothing. We come to trade
Swiv. Si ou trayi nou, tout muon mouri (Haitan Creole) - Follow. But if you betray us, you're dead
Kenbe yo an sekirite (Haitan Creole) - Keep them safe
Hispaniola mis compañeros (Spanish) - Hispaniola (it's a country) my companions
No bueno tiempo (Spanish) - Not a good time
Hey guys, new chapter
I know everyone wants some America chapters, myself included, but we're getting there
I'll try to post as much as I can, but you'll have to go crazy with comments if you actually want these things on time ...I'm forgetful
Anyway hoped you liked it and look forward to the continuation