(Trigger warning: Violence/small suggestion to sexual violence.)
Men and women of all ages watched in silence as the blonde-haired white girl walked through their camp. Her carriage was erect and proud, and although her pink dress was tattered and torn, she gave off the air of one wearing silk robes. She met every gaze equally, as if she was challenging someone to rise against her. If he is with me, who can be against me?
The arrogance of it incensed Magua, although he had to admit part of him was shaken by this mysterious girl. He had expected tears, pleading, even anger, but this? He had never seen an English girl behave so. Does she think I will not harm her? wondered Magua. Can she be so naïve? She will soon be disabused of the notion, he thought in sadistic pleasure.
He roughly pushed the girl into the yawning of his tent. She looked around casually, as if she had been invited for tea.
"Sit," he commanded. "While the fire gets hotter."
Alice did not know what that meant, and a squeeze of dread came over her. Uncas, she thought, Oh, Uncas.
"Take off your dress," he said flatly.
"You will have to rip it off of me," she said, in an equally flat tone.
"Take it off," he said, cussing at her violently, as he threw her flat on her back. She put up little fight but then suddenly and unexpectedly, she spit in his face. He slapped her hard. Then once more.
And then he ripped the disheveled gown off, leaving her trembling on the floor in her chemise.
He walked over to the fire in the center of the room, where he began to poke and prod at something in concentration. Alice shut her eyes. Why will he not just do it? She wondered. Let it be over with. She knew the first time would be the worst, that women said it hurt and bled. Even with their husbands, who assuredly would be gentler than an enraged Indian.
She put her hands over her eyes and started humming tunelessly. It was not long before she felt Magua cross the room and stand above her.
"Take off that vain slip or I will brand your face," he said, arousal started to churn inside of him.
Her eyes flew open in horror. He stood before her holding a branding iron, glowing orange hot from the fire. She gasped in alarm. She could not…she would not…Uncas. Uncas. Uncas. Uncas. Uncas. Uncas, Uncas. Uncas.
She realized that the words were not in her head and that she was screaming aloud, "Uncas, Uncas, Uncas, Uncas!"
The hate-light sharpened in Magua's eyes. He tore the shift off roughly, exposing Alice's naked body before his eyes. Then, as she twisted beneath him, he seared her with the branding iron, the smell of burning flesh filling the tent as he laid the instrument against her beating breast.
And, then, mercifully, she found the room inside of her mind again, and she was gone.
oOOOo
In the light of the morning, Nathaniel awakened to find an unconscious Alice being dumped beside him. To his confusion, she was not tied to the post, but rather left face first in the ground, appearing nearly lifeless save the sound of her ragged breath.
Gazing down in dread, Nathaniel realized why they had not tied her…her hands and wrists were covered in blood, the nails ripped down almost clean to the bone. She was not wearing the dress she wore before, but a skirt made of animal skins and a top of similar material, which tied around her neck and left her arms and belly exposed. Her bare skin revealed a nightmare of abuse, with already forming bruises on almost every inch of her.
He shuddered like a small child, biting his tongue to prevent himself from crying out.
The smell was terrible, he noticed. Nathaniel could not place it at first, but then realized that she must have urinated on herself. His face flushed. What had they done to her? He could see that she had been sorely used throughout the night—her body was a patchwork of scars and burns, but he knew not what story they told.
"Alice?" He called out, gently. "Alice?"
She made no reply. Oh, what had her brother called her? He wished he could remember. He wished he had his bow and arrow. He wished he had a gun. He wished he could remove Magua's head from his body with his bare hands. He wished his brother to never, ever know of this.
"Alice?" he called out again, tears beginning to pour from his eyes. He could not bear this. He thought they would torture him surely, and he would face it head-on, like a warrior of 37 years ought. But this? This was unconscionable.
Then, Alice stirred slightly and made a tiny mewing sound.
"Alice! Alice!" he cried. "Are you greatly harmed? Alice! Move over here a little, let me see you better."
She rolled slightly, turning her face to his voice. He gasped as the new day's sun fell upon her visage. Her plump lips were swollen and bitten, and her right eye was fearfully bruised. There was a deep, bleeding cut along her left brow.
"Uncas? Uncas?" she moaned piteously.
"No, no," said Nathaniel, ashamed to feel that tears continued to come down his face. "It is I, his brother."
"I—I prayed for him not—not—not to come," she said, nearly incoherent from her fattened lips. "But now—oh now, Nathaniel, why won't he come? Please, can he come now? Can he come now?"
Nathaniel shook his head, wanting to scream ferociously at the sky but not wanting to frighten her or gain Magua's attention. He tried in vain to pull his hands loose so that he could comfort the poor girl, or at least tend to the bleeding wounds on her face.
"Can you come to me, little one?" he asked, and the words seem to work a spell, as she found a spark of energy—a small spark, but enough to let her drag her head into his lap. And then, she shook there, spasms vibrating through her body as she trembled roughly and helplessly.
"Uncas," she said, "I want Uncas. I want Uncas."
His heart breaking, Nathaniel did the only thing he could think of: He sang a song to her in Mohican, and then another, and another, until she finally passed out with an empty hollow moan.
oOOOo
For many hours the captured pair remained in this position. Nathaniel watched as the Huron moved efficiently through their camp, the women cooking and tending to children, as the men sat speaking in low voices beside the fire. No one seemed to pay the white ones a second thought, and there was no sign of Magua at all.
When a young girl came walking over to them in the noonday sun, Nathaniel at first thought he was dreaming. She was carrying a plate of food—corn and beans from the looks of it—and she was smiling openly.
She set the food down gently on the ground beside him. She looked questioning at Alice, as if to say, "Is she alright?"
Nathaniel grunted in disgust. What the hell do you think, woman?
Still wordless, she took the spoon and motioned for Nathaniel to open his mouth.
"Untie me," he demanded. Again, she smiled, but she shook her head.
Pride made him clamp his mouth shut, but reason and hunger won out. He needed to eat if he had any chance of protecting Alice. Plus, the food smelled heavenly, and he hadn't eaten in nearly 48 hours. He opened his mouth and allowed the pretty girl to feed him. She smiled all the way, and appeared totally at ease, as though there was nothing strange about feeing a white man as a woman lay bleeding and insensible in his lap.
"For her?" he asked, as the girl did not seem to be sparing any morsel for Alice's portion.
Here the girl spoke, just once, but firmly. "Magua says no," she said. "No food for her."
And with that, she gathered up the plate and left Nathaniel sitting there, the last bite of food feeling like dust in his mouth.
oOOOo
Against his will, Nathaniel dozed off in the midday heat, awakening only when he felt the prodding of something hard against his chest. It was Magua pushing upon him with his bow. Nathaniel looked around in alarm.
"Where is she?" he asked.
"Ah," said Magua. "She is being interrogated."
Nathaniel groaned. His hands twisted furiously again at the rope. He felt his skin slicing off and the blood pouring down the twine, but he cared not.
"Why do you do this?" He demanded. "This is not the warrior's way! Torture me! Harm me. Do not do this to her!"
"Where is the white man?"
"What do you mean?" hissed Nathaniel. "Duncan is dead."
Magua seemed confused. "Duncan? Ah," he realized. "The angry-haired one. No, I don't mean that fool. I mean their father, the Colonel."
"What do you mean?" Nathaniel repeated again. "He is at Fort Campbell, if not halfway here to kill you himself for taking his daughter!"
At that, Magua shook with laughter. "Nay," he said, "That he is not. Fort Campbell is a smoking funeral site and Colonel Munroe escaped like a cowardly rabbit into the night. He knows I have his daughter but cares not."
"That cannot be so!" said Nathaniel in disbelief.
"Oh, it is," said Magua, "I sent word and most assured proof that I have his youngest one. He refuses to come forward in her stead. I would have honored a noble trade such as that."
"He…he will not come?" stammered Nathaniel. He could not conceive of such a reality, of such a man who would not sacrifice himself for his blood.
"He will not come," said Magua with finality.
"So what then?" raged Nathaniel. "You will starve and torture his kin beyond all manner of humanity? And what next?"
"Death, white man," he hissed, "Death for you both….but not before I take a souvenir."
And, before Nathaniel realized what was happening, Magua cut off his right ear and held it triumphantly above his head.