A chill ran down Carlos's spine at the insinuation that Pedro might be the snitch. The stifling air of the slave quarters, thick with the smell of sweat and smoke, seemed to grow even heavier.

  It can't be him. Pedro was the first person to extend a hand to me here.

  Pedro approached and sat down between them. His eyes softened as they turned to Tassi.

  "So, how are you feeling now that you're finally free of that horrible mask?"

  "I feel... light," Tassi replied, raising a hand to touch her own face as if she couldn't quite believe it. "And even better for having seen Jorge turn as red as a chili pepper. But I never imagined the priest had that much courage. Thank you for speaking to him."

  "I barely did anything," Pedro shrugged. "The priest had been pestering the master for days to remove your mask; I just helped corner the old man. You should be the one thanking him later."

  "Yes, I will. It's a pity he always tries to convert me for a good few hours whenever I show up there."

  "You need to believe in God, sister, to attain your salvation."

  "The day God makes me a free person, I will believe in Him. Until then, I won't put my faith in anything."

  "Salvation doesn't exist here on Earth," Pedro argued, shaking his head. "Only in heaven will we be truly saved and free. I was going to ask, 'Don't you agree, Carlos?' but I remembered what you said yesterday. I realized you're the type who believes we can build a better world here. Well, everyone is entitled to their beliefs."

  It seems my words from yesterday really resonated with him.

  "It looks like you're starting to understand me," Carlos said, feeling a thread of hope. "But know that I'm not just all talk. I will prove it to you."

  "And how will you prove it?" Pedro asked, leaning forward.

  Tassi, seated beside Pedro, quickly brought her index finger to her lips in a clear, discreet signal for silence. From Carlos's position, only he could see it.

  Oops, I said too much. Even though I trust him, I'll trust her judgment. I have my reservations. Better to be evasive.

  "Just wait and see."

  This irritated Tassi. Idiot! What a suspicious thing to say! We're slaves; nothing will change unless we are free. Telling him to 'wait and see' is the same as shouting that you plan to escape!

  Pedro mentally recorded every word but decided not to press the issue.

  "So, what were you two talking about, now that Tassi can finally speak without having to whisper?"

  "I was telling him about my life and explaining magic gems," Tassi replied, averting her gaze from Carlos. "It seems he lived in a cave and never heard of them."

  If I don't say anything now, this 'idiot' might blurt out another foolish thing.

  Carlos didn't appreciate the comment and retorted, his voice a bit sharper:

  "I may not know anything about magic gems, but I know about everything else! I know we're in Brazil, that many slaves come from Congo, from Guinea. I know about Portugal, Spain, England, Holland, the Ottoman Empire, Morocco, the Mamluks, Ethiopia. I know we're in Brazil."

  Wait, which part of Brazil? Well, considering it's a sugar plantation and the era, we're probably in the Northeast. That's where the largest sugar production was. I think the captaincy back then was Pernambuco. Olinda was the initial capital, but after the Dutch were expelled, Recife took over. If I remember correctly, the old master mentioned something about the Dutch being expelled. So the capital must be Recife.

  "I also know we're in the Captaincy of Pernambuco, whose capital is Recife. And the nearby quilombo is called Quilombo dos Palmares, at least the biggest one around here."

  Carlos said it all with a conviction that echoed in the quiet of the place.

  At least my thousand hours playing map-painting games will be good for something.

  Pedro and Tassi exchanged a look, and then they couldn't contain themselves. A snicker escaped, quickly transforming into contagious laughter. Tassi had to brace her hands on her knees, breathing deeply to calm herself.

  "In the first part, you actually impressed me," she said, still breathless. "But when you started talking about the cities, you got all tangled up! What the hell is 'Recife'? The regional capital is Praia Branca! And the nearby quilombo is Quilombo da Jabuticaba!"

  Pedro also stifled his laughter before adding:

  "You said it with so much confidence I started doubting my own memory!"

  How was I supposed to know the names were different? Everything else seems the same. I don't understand the logic of this world: half the things are identical, the other half completely different.

  Seeing that their hilarity wouldn't let up anytime soon, Carlos stood up and walked away, feeling the heat of shame rise up his neck.

  A few minutes later, the laughter finally subsided.

  "He's a bit strange, isn't he?" Pedro commented, a smile still on his lips. "Where do you think he came from?"

  "I don't think he's strange," Tassi responded, her voice serious again. "You were born on this plantation, weren't you, Pedro? So you don't know what it's like to lose your home, your family, your friends, and be thrown into an unknown place. It messes with anyone's head. It took me a long time to adapt myself."

  "And have you really adapted? Didn't you try to escape just this week?" Pedro questioned, but then lowered his voice. "But you're right. I was born and raised within these fences. My world has always been this. I can't imagine what it must have been like for you, to be captured far away and brought here."

  "It's precisely because I've 'adapted' that I want to escape. I want to be free. You have never been free, so you don't know what it's like. And that's why I'm asking you: please try not to repeat everything Carlos says to the plantation master. He hasn't gotten used to life here yet."

  Pedro was silent for a moment, then stood up.

  "Unfortunately, my time is up. I have to get back to the main house."

  ***

  Carlos walked along the banks of the plantation's reservoir, feeling the damp, cold earth under his bare feet. The night air carried the sweet, musty smell of stagnant water. He ruminated on everything he had heard, trying to process the information.

  I really am assuming too much. This is not my world. I need to listen more, think more. I know nothing about the magic here, nor what I can do. I have to learn about this place and stop presuming it's the same as mine.

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  His thoughts were interrupted by a rough voice from behind.

  "The master is calling for you."

  Turning around, Carlos saw Overseer Jairo, arms crossed, his face marked by its usual expression of disdain.

  Damn it. What does he want with me on a Sunday? Can't I even have a moment of rest?

  As he approached the main house, he saw Jorge waiting on the veranda. The plantation master was furious, his face congested with anger.

  "You're late! It seems no slave on this property respects me! But you will learn to respect me!"

  What does he mean? I thought it was a day of rest. I thought I didn't need to come.

  "My apologies, master. I thought today was my day off."

  "Liar! Everyone knows that those who work in the main house have no days off! To teach you to respect me, you will receive twenty lashes! Jairo, get him out of my sight and carry out his punishment. I don't want to see this black wretch in front of me for the rest of the day!"

  Without hesitation, Jairo grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the whipping post in front of the slave quarters. The rough, stained wood seemed to absorb the fading evening light.

  "Take off your shirt, you black dog! You're going to learn to respect your owner!"

  Jairo looked around at the other slaves watching in silence and shouted:

  "Listen up, all you lazy blacks! This is what happens when you don't respect the master of the plantation!"

  Reluctantly, Carlos pulled his sweaty shirt over his head. Jairo delivered the first blow. The whip cut through the air with a dry crack before hitting his back with an impact that burned like fire. Unlike last time, there was no preparation. The pain was immediate and overwhelming. He almost screamed but trapped the cry between his teeth, tasting the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth.

  Some slaves looked away, unable to bear the scene. Others just stared, their faces marked by resignation and pity.

  In his mind, time stretched. Each blow felt like an eternity of agony. When the final lash echoed, he could barely stand. His back throbbed with excruciating pain, a red, pulsating cloud of suffering.

  "Wanted a day off so badly, did you?" Jairo spat the words. "Well, now you have one! Go to the priest and get those wounds treated, and you can laze about since the master doesn't want you around."

  Slowly, Carlos pushed himself up, each movement a stab of pain. His jaw was so tightly clenched it ached.

  I'm going to kill these bastards. Whatever it takes.

  He turned and began to walk toward the chapel. Every step was torture, every deeper breath a reminder of the open wounds on his back. The short distance transformed into an endless journey.

  Upon arriving, Father Ant?nio, who was sweeping the entrance, looked up and his face immediately filled with concern.

  "My God, my son! What happened to you?"

  "Good afternoon, Father," Carlos spoke, his voice a thread. "I just took some lashes for not going to speak with the master."

  "Come with me, we'll take care of this right away."

  He guided Carlos into the small annex room where he kept his medicines. The place smelled of dried herbs and alcohol. Ant?nio had Carlos sit on a wooden chair and began gently applying a bluish-green salve that emitted a faint glow.

  "I'm so sorry for this," the priest said, his voice laden with guilt. "I think I irritated the plantation master too much with my sermon, and he took his anger out on you."

  "Father, did you whip me? Or order me to be whipped? No! So you are not to blame for anything!"

  "You're right. But even so, I should have had more tact."

  Carlos shook his head in disagreement.

  "Just seeing Senhor Jorge that angry made it worth it. And Tassi really needed the food. Letting a person starve is an immeasurable cruelty."

  "Besides, if I had known I was supposed to go see him, this wouldn't have happened. I truly thought today was a day of rest. No one told me, although, thinking about it now, Pedro did mention he was going to work in the main house today. I should have realized right then."

  Ant?nio, trying to contain his irritation, said:

  "But you shouldn't have to work! Today is a sacred day. Unfortunately, for many plantation owners, slaves have no right to rest. I only managed to get them a day off because Dona Alice is a devout follower and convinced her husband. But Senhor Jorge, unfortunately, doesn't consider work in the main house as real 'work.' That's why you and the others who serve there have to report for duty."

  My God, what a suffering life. To imagine a whole life without a single day of rest... Poor Auntie Vera. If I were in her place, I couldn't be so kind. I'd hate everything and everyone. Especially suffering from the constant aches of overwork... My mother had many pains. I bet Auntie Vera suffers too, even more with her age.

  "But, even with Dona Alice being so faithful, I think the main reason you have any days of rest is because the Holy City is nearby."

  Wait... Holy City? I've never heard of that!

  "Holy City?"

  "You really aren't from around here, are you? Although your Portuguese is excellent for someone from Africa. Nearby is the Holy City of Santa Maria. It's one of the Church's many holy cities."

  What? The Church is more powerful here than in my world? I need to know more.

  "Why would the Church have a holy city in a place like this? And are there others?"

  "Wherever the word of God needs to be spread, you will find a Holy City. They exist all over the world. And besides spreading the faith, these cities recruit anyone who shows an aptitude for using the healing gem. I was one of them, and I will be eternally grateful. I was an orphan; my parents died in a smallpox epidemic. I was left completely alone, and the Church gave me a home, an education, and everything I have—including this healing gem to make salves and help you. But, of course, they helped me because they discovered I had the gift."

  Carlos was so engrossed in the conversation he barely felt the pain in his back as the salve took effect, leaving a sensation of fresh, penetrating relief.

  I bet, besides spreading the word of God, the Church uses these cities to consolidate and expand its power. And Tassi mentioned how difficult it is to work with magic gems...

  "And only the Church knows how to work the healing gems?"

  "Yes."

  So the Church maintains a monopoly on the healing gem and on who can use it. And with that power, it can expand its global influence even further. It seems the Church in this world is much stronger than in mine—and mine was already powerful. I just don't know if that's good or bad. On one hand, the slaves in the region get days of rest. On the other, the Church supports slavery and colonialism.

  Ant?nio could already imagine what he was thinking.

  "I understand that, for those who are not very devout, the decision to keep the healing gems for themselves might seem cruel," the priest continued, as if reading his thoughts. "However, the Church uses this power primarily to obtain resources from nobles and kings during wars, charging a fee to heal combatants. That money is then used to treat the faithful. It's thanks to this that I can heal you. At least, that's how it works around here; I don't know how it is in the rest of the world. But the Popess of the Holy City of Santa Maria uses the resources the Church obtains from these pointless wars to ensure that all the unfortunate can be healed—except, of course, those who were injured while trying to kill another person, whether in a war or outside of one."

  Anyone? I doubt it's like that in the whole world. If it were, the Church in this world would be much better than mine. In my world, on paper, the Church accepted everyone, but in practice, the wealthiest donors received the best treatments. Some poor people received basic care, but for many enslaved and unwanted people, there was nothing—in part, of course, due to a lack of resources and manpower... Wait a minute, did he say 'Popess'? And not 'Pope'?

  "Unfortunately, slaves also do not receive healing free of charge. A fee is charged to every plantation owner. But, even if it weren't, I would do the same, because I believe anyone deserves God's healing."

  And on plantations that don't pay this fee? If there's a fee, then it's not for 'anyone.' But, more importantly... the Popess?

  He was about to open his mouth to ask but was interrupted.

  "I'm finished, Carlos. Now, try to rest until tomorrow."

  "Thank you, Father."

  Well, I must have misheard. Anyway, I need to rest, for tomorrow I return to my life as a slave.

  Carlos rose carefully from the chair and began walking toward the door. Before crossing the threshold, however, he stopped and turned to Father Ant?nio.

  "Why do you help us so much? You didn't need to confront the plantation master like that. To the Church, we are nothing but slaves."

  Ant?nio looked at him, and a calm, yet sad, smile illuminated his face.

  "I am eternally grateful to the Church, my son. But I know that the Church's word... is not always the same as God's word."