He nodded, wordlessly pointing toward a very large house on a hill. A big, looming plantation-style home—like the kind you see in movies or in textbooks—which while not near as big as the palace he’d just shown me, still held a fair amount of square footage from what I could tell.
I glanced between Prince Kanta and the house, knowing it was supposed to mean something, symbolize something, but not quite sure what that was. “So, basically you went from an African palace, to a Caribbean plantation house, to the thatched roof hut on the beach, where, for whatever reason, you choose to live in now.” I turned, my eyes traveling the long, tall length of him, but he just remained silent and still. “I mean, you do choose to live there, right? Because if not, if you’re really not all that happy with that kind of…” I paused, searching for just the right word that wouldn’t come off as overly judgmental or offensive, but unable to come up with anything quick, I went on to say, “Anyway, you do know that you can manifest a whole new place just as easily as you can manifest the clothes you wear?” I looked at him, trying to read his face, but didn’t get much of anything. “A stone, a castle, there’s no limit—all you have to do is envision it, see yourself having it, and it’s yours—easy-peasy!”
He turned away. Turned until his back was facing me. And I have to say, that really annoyed me since I wasn’t quite done with my pitch. If anything, I was just getting started, was just about to inform him of my position as a Soul Catcher, and offer to escort him to the bridge as soon as this was all over.
But just as I was about to launch into all that, he glanced over his shoulder, pressed his finger to his lips, and pointed straight ahead as he whispered, “You make too much noise, Miss Riley Bloom. And because of it, you miss the whole point. Just watch. Don’t speak. Allow the story to come to you.”
Okay, in all honesty, that about quadrupled my annoyance. I mean, here he’d led me away from my friends who were in desperate need of my help, only to distract me with some freaky tea and a random collection of not-so-impressive pieces of real estate he was determined to show me.
And now he was telling me that I talk too much and to basically shut up?
Or at least that’s how it sounded to me.
And yet, despite all that, for some reason I found my lips clamping together as my gaze followed the tip of his pointing finger all the way to where a man who looked exactly like Prince Kanta, a man who, after a few moments of observation, I realized was Prince Kanta, spent what must’ve been some major backbreaking days working the fields.
“I—I don’t get it,” I blurted, remembering too late how he didn’t want me to speak. But still, I was confused and in need of some answers, and he was the only one around who was able to give them. “I thought you were a prince? I thought you lived in that castle in Africa?” He looked at me, nodding in confirmation. “So why would you leave a cushy life like that only to come here to get beaten and whipped no matter how hard you work?”
But then it hit me.
Before he could answer, the reason became clear.
Prince Kanta may have moved to this island, but it wasn’t by choice.
Prince Kanta may have been a ruler in Africa, but in this place, he didn’t even rule his own life.
He’d gone from a luxurious life of nobility—to the horrid life of a slave.
Forced to work the plantation from sunup to sunset, and suffer terrible beatings whenever he was unfortunate enough to displease his master.
“Impermanence.” He nodded, tearing his eyes away from the bleak scene in order to look into mine. “It’s like I said earlier, nothing lasts forever, Riley. Where we begin is not always the same as where we end.”
I gulped—an old habit left over from my time on the earth plane—as I turned away from the prince and watched the horrible scene that unfolded before me. Watched a series of beatings, inhumane acts of torture, including one that was so unspeakable, so barbaric, so unimaginably cruel, I was sure it couldn’t be real. I was sure he was seriously pushing the truth just to make an impression on me.
But despite my best effort to look away, despite my turning my back, shutting my eyes, and pla
cing my hands over my ears to drown out those awful, tormented, agonized cries—despite all of those avoidance techniques I employed—there was just no escaping it.
No matter how hard I tried to shield myself from it, the scene continued to play out before me—behind me—around me—inside me.
And since there was no way to stop it, no way to silence it, I was left with no choice but to allow it to run till its end.
So I watched.
Watched as a group of slaves were rounded up, ones who’d been deemed disobedient, troublesome, in a way that angered the plantation owner.
Watched as they were hauled over to a long, pristine expanse of beach where they were buried up to their necks in white sand.
Watched as a cruel and sadistic master, along with his friends, enjoyed a game of “bowling”—using the slave’s exposed heads as pins.
Watched as one slave after another succumbed to a tragically horrendous, untimely death.
It was hideous.
The true definition of gruesome.
And it was hard to imagine that anyone could enjoy something so cruel.
Yet, there it was, a revolting piece of history playing out before me. And thankfully, after a few moments of watching, Prince Kanta was kind enough to remove it from my view.