The Obsidian Mirror, page 26
The voices continued. Jumlin said coldly, “I do my Lord’s bidding, as I have always done. I have the feathers. I have the woman. That’s more than either of you were able to achieve.”
Clapper’s response was immediate. “You? You’re just an errand boy. Jenna and I have done the hard work here, and you’ve done nothing but get in the way. Now get the hell out of here. We have work to do.”
A woman’s voice now, one that Sierra knew well: Jenna’s rich contralto. “Now, Jack, we’re all on the same side here. I know we haven’t exactly been friends with Jumlin in the past, but maybe we need to reconsider. We are all servants of the Obsidian Mirror, after all. Where are the feathers, Jumlin?”
Sierra couldn’t quite see what Jumlin was doing, but soon he approached the altar and laid something on its surface. Sierra could see he was wearing black gloves. They shone dully, as though made of fine leather. Something clinked, metal against stone. The silver feathers.
Light footsteps. Jenna approached the altar and stared down. “Pretty,” she said. “They don’t look dangerous.”
“Neither do Black Diamond semiconductors,” said Clapper. “But they are, all the same.”
Jenna turned to face Jumlin. Her rosebud mouth smiled, but her flat blue eyes were as cold and empty as ever. “Let’s join forces,” she said, in an inviting tone, her voice warm. “We have everything to gain by not continuing this quarrel. We could use another good brain on our side—don’t you think, Jack?” she said, smiling at Jumlin and not looking at Clapper. There was a brief pause, then Clapper said, “Sure. Yeah. Let’s bury the hatchet, so to speak. Let’s bury it in that little green freak and the bitch over there, specifically.” He turned and aimed a feral grin at Sierra. She let her barely parted lids close completely so as not to betray she was awake and listening.
“I’m sure that would be for the best,” said Jumlin smoothly. “Two blood sacrifices for Lord Tezcatlipoca. And my strength and powers joined to yours. Our Lord will reward us for this.”
Sierra glanced around the hall, wondering where Fred was. Apart from the altar and the obsidian slab, there was nothing in the hall but the people. But there, in the dark corner beyond the altar—what was that? A cage? A box? She couldn’t see it well enough. Was Fred crammed into that little thing? Poor Fred, she thought. He must be terrified. Then, Poor me. I AM terrified.
“Yes,” said Jenna. “He will. We should prepare for the sacrifice. Jack, get that little beast out of his cage, please.” Sierra noticed that as she made this request, she made a very slight gesture with her hand, positioning it low and between the two of them. Jack glanced down at it. He looked up at her again.
“You do it,” he said rudely. “I’ve still got the stitches from that little monster’s teeth.”
Jenna sighed impatiently and turned to Jumlin. “May I borrow your gloves, please,” she asked sweetly. “Jack never had much of a backbone, you know.”
Jumlin eyed her and said, “I’ll do it.” Jenna brightened. “Yes, please, if you wouldn’t mind,” she said. “It’s got quite a nasty set of teeth, as Jack certainly knows. What a gentleman you are.”
Jumlin walked over to the cage or box on the floor. He bent down, apparently trying to see in. He straightened. “There’s nothing in there,” he said suspiciously.
“Yes, there is,” Jenna said patiently. “There’s a kind of trick to making him visible—he’s a mannegishi, you know. They can disappear at will. But I know how to handle him. First, we need something to poke him with…” she looked around. “Where did that knife go? Do you see it, Jack?”
Jumlin walked back to where the others stood in front of the altar, stripping off his leather gloves. He held them out to Jenna. “Here,” he said. “You do it if you know how.”
Jenna took the gloves and pulled them onto her own slender hands. She flexed them, and held them out admiringly. “Very nice!” she exclaimed—and swifter than a striking cobra, snatched the silver feathers from the altar and pressed them to Jumlin’s face.
Sierra watched in helpless revulsion as Jumlin’s scream of agony echoed through the stone hall, making the flames of the torches shiver and dance. He struck out blindly at Jenna, who slid deftly out of his way, still clutching the feathers. His smooth, tanned cheek began to smoke, then sizzle, then burst into flame, and in a matter of seconds, Sierra could see the bones of his skull. The flames burst out anew from his chest—the ribs standing out in blackened profile against the red light of the flames—and traveled down the length of his body as though Jumlin’s torso were a Fourth of July sparkler. His bones glowed and collapsed, then he vaporized in a gout of flames and smoke. The most ghastly aspect of it was his scream, which reverberated through the cave, dying only after Jumlin’s body had completely disappeared and leaving nothing behind but a faintly glowing pile of greasy ash. Jenna and Clapper stood side by side, staring down at the ashes on the floor. As they gazed, the red-orange glow winked out entirely.
“Well,” Jenna said. “I guess that settles that.” She set the silver feathers on the altar and turned her cold eyes on Sierra.
Chapter 32
Clancy drove the entire way, silent and grim. Kaylee sat next to him in the front passenger seat, while Rose, Mama Labadie, and Chaco sat in the back. At first, Kaylee tried to relieve her growing anxiety with conversation, but Clancy responded with nothing more encouraging than grunts or the occasional “uh-huh,” so she gave up and tried to nap. This effort was rendered futile by Rose and Chaco, who passed the time with songs and chants, which Kaylee thought were probably in some Native American language. After an hour of this, she was ready to request “A Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall,” but they finally stopped. After several minutes, small snores issued from the back seat and Kaylee finally dropped off. Throughout the journey, Mama Labadie sat bolt upright, alert and silent.
Kaylee woke up when the SUV came to a halt, gravel scrunching under its tires. She rubbed her eyes blearily. It still looked like morning, as the sun hadn’t yet cleared the tall pines around them.
“Where are we?” she yawned, as the others stirred in the back seat.
“We’re down the highway a little way from the turnoff where they told Sierra to go,” responded Clancy. He opened the door and swung out of his seat without apparent stiffness. Kaylee dug her fingers into her hair, realizing that it must be standing out around her head like a black dandelion puff. She peered into the rear-view mirror, shuddered, and gave it up as a bad job. She joined Clancy outside the car as the others tumbled out and stretched.
“Okay,” Clancy said, checking his holster and glancing alertly around. “You know the drill. Rose, Mama Labadie and Kaylee, stay here with the car. Chaco, come with me.”
“Wait a minute,” Kaylee said, having just realized some of the more feminist implications of the plan. “Why do the men go off and do the rescuing and the women stay behind in the fort? Don’t you think we might be helpful? There’s strength in numbers, you know. And there’s more estrogen than testosterone here.”
“Do you have a gun and know how to use it?” inquired Clancy. Kaylee shook her head.
“Can you change into a coyote and sneak around in the underbrush without being noticed?”
Kaylee just glared at him, hands on hips. Clancy gave her a half-smile and shrugged. “I’d switch with you if it made any sense,” he commented. “C’mon, Chaco.” Chaco made as though to kiss Kaylee, but she turned her head, annoyed. Chaco shrugged and grinned before morphing into a coyote and sliding soundlessly into the brush, vanishing almost before she realized it. Clancy, less soundlessly, began to walk along the highway. Within minutes, he was hidden by a turn in the road.
Kaylee looked at her companions. “Well, the brave knights have charged off, and the maidens are twiddling their fingers back at the castle,” she remarked sourly. Rose smiled her slow, warm smile.
“We can contribute, too,” she said.
“How?” Kaylee asked. “If someone—or something—found us here, we’d be sitting ducks. And if Clancy and Chaco—or Sierra—are in trouble, we’d never know, sitting here like vestal virgins.”
“We can cast protective spells for them all,” responded Rose. “And for ourselves.” She looked thoughtfully down the road in the direction Clancy had taken. “I remember hearing about those…heads. And Mahaha. I don’t care to sit here unprotected, do you?”
Kaylee clutched her pendant. “No, I don’t,” she said, firmly. “Mama Labadie, we should call on the loa for their help.” She looked at her hands in frustration. “I don’t have anything with me,” she said. “No offerings, or anything.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Rose. “There’s water in the car. I have some corn meal. And there’s a few apples.”
“We also have Fig Newtons,” commented Mama Labadie. This was her first comment since leaving the Bay Area. “Fig Newtons, they work better than cornmeal. Not so good as rum, though,” she added thoughtfully.
So the women, each in her own tradition, performed ceremonies side by side, calling on the unseen for assistance. At the end, as they were standing in a circle of cornmeal, salt and crumbled Fig Newtons, scattering droplets of water on the roadside gravel, a sheriff’s car pulled up. There were two uniformed officers in the front seat. The passenger-side officer, who proved to be a woman, rolled down the window and leaned out.
“Are you ladies in trouble here?” she inquired. She was wearing dark aviator shades that completely hid her eyes, giving her a slightly sinister look. Her partner, a man, had one hand on the steering wheel and the other hand at his hip. Rose recovered her composure first.
“No, officer,” she replied with a luminous smile. “Just enjoying the fine weather and looking for a hiking trail.”
“That’s good,” returned the woman. “Glad you’re not broken down, or something. If you want to hike, you should drive back to Route 203 and drive to the trail that goes to the Devil’s Postpile. That’s worth seeing, and it’s a pretty hike, too.”
“Great!” said Rose. “We’ll do that. Thanks, officer!” She waved gaily as the car pulled away from the verge and sped down the highway. She and Kaylee watched the car’s taillights disappear around the corner. Dust drifted quietly around them, sparkling in the sun as the pine trees soughed in the breeze.
“Hmph,” said Mama Labadie, squinting her eyes against the bright sunlight. “I think that’s the first time a cop ever passed up the opportunity to give me a run-around. What we did must be working.”
“Maybe,” Rose said. “Or maybe we just seem like nice ladies out for a hike.”
Kaylee surveyed the protective Fig Newton circle. “Maybe. And maybe we should also get off the road. I feel exposed here.”
Rose nodded. “Okay. Let’s walk into the trees a ways. Far enough so that passing cars won’t see us, anyway.” The women took small packs with water, apples, and snacks from the car.
As she was making these few preparations, Kaylee suddenly felt…wrong. Her head snapped up. She listened, but could hear nothing. Absolutely nothing—no wind, no birds, no cars. Minutes earlier, the comparative silence of the lightly traveled highway through the woods had seemed peaceful. This frozen stillness seemed utterly wrong, as did a sudden chill. Though the sun shone as brightly as before, the light seemed devoid of brilliance or warmth. Rose, too, was suddenly alert, turning her dark head this way and that. Mama Labadie stood as still as a statue, eyes wide.
“Something’s wrong!” hissed Kaylee.
Rose nodded. “I know,” she said, looking anxious.
Mama Labadie rummaged through her pack. She took out a colorful bundle decorated with feathers and tied with bright yarns. She held this object in her hands, muttering something as she scanned her surroundings. Rose had her doeskin pouch clasped in one hand, the other hand outstretched, hand cocked back with the palm outward as though pushing away something invisible. Kaylee clutched her vévé. Without speaking, the three moved to stand back-to-back.
A sudden wind came up, blowing an icy breath that made the trees sway alarmingly, though still no sound could be heard. It felt to the women as though their ears were stuffed with cotton. And down the deserted highway, something dark could be seen, coiling like smoke, or like a snake, with none of the insubstantiality of the one or the substance of the other. And it was moving toward the women—fast.
Kaylee could feel the other women’s backs against hers. Rose was trembling. Kaylee wondered if she were trembling as well, but couldn’t tell. Mama Labadie’s body was still, but her muscles were tensed, braced for whatever was coming.
“Don’t move from this place,” Mama Labadie whispered to the others. “We’re stronger together.” Kaylee and Rose nodded, but didn’t speak.
The dark, coiling thing moved closer. Kaylee thought now that it looked like a great snake, and suddenly wondered if this were Quetzalcoatl. But surely not—wasn’t Q a beneficent being? Surely he wouldn’t bring this watery-kneed sense of mortal dread? The roiling mass was dark, but not black all through. There were slowly turning streams of many deep colors, continually shifting and changing. The thing was hypnotic, fascinating, almost beautiful. It moved closer, closer, closer—and abruptly stopped. It hung for several moments, far too near for comfort, but several yards distant from the waiting women. It didn’t seem to want to approach any closer. The women turned their bodies to face it but remained standing in tight formation, drawing strength from one another.
Suddenly, the amorphous, turning mass was gone, and a man stood there. He was every bit as beautiful as Chaco—even more so. His face was that of an Aztec prince, with high cheekbones, an arched nose that flattened at the nostrils, and wide, sensual lips. His eyes, large and almond-shaped, were as black and glittering as obsidian, showing no whites. Kaylee took a firmer grip on her vévé and leaned hard against Rose, who returned the pressure.
The creature—whatever it was, it was clearly and aggressively male—wore a tall, spiked crown of feathers. Heavy gold and jade jewelry hung from his neck and banded his arms and legs. Gold pierced his lips, earlobes, and cheeks. He wore nothing else on a body that looked—Kaylee thought dazedly—like one of those kitschy paintings on black velvet: all bronzed flesh and rippling muscles. She forced herself to stare at his face.
The man smiled tenderly at the women, showing white, even teeth. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. They said nothing.
“I have so much to offer you,” he said. “Can’t we have a few friendly words?” He stretched his muscular arms out, palms open. The ornaments fastened around his biceps swayed dreamily, back and forth, back and forth. Kaylee followed their motion as though hypnotized. She could feel the bodies of the other women swaying in time.
Then it seemed to Kaylee that she was flying above herself and looking down. She could see her little figure, crowded tightly against Rose and Mama Labadie, just for an instant, and then she was flying above the pine trees. She could see the forest beneath her, sloping down into the Mono basin and the lake itself, with its two islands floating like water birds in an expanse of blue.
Then she seemed to fly through time and space, alighting suddenly in a lush forest, a tropical forest utterly different from the dry pines where she had begun her journey. She could smell this forest, its fecund rankness, and the perfume of a thousand flowers. The heat and moisture settled around her like a familiar blanket. She was home. This is where she belonged, the place where she reigned as queen. She realized that she was nearly naked, but this didn’t concern her; she was the queen. Her arms dripped with ornately wrought gold bracelets, and a heavy headdress pressed down her hair. The insignia of royalty, she knew.
This is yours by right! said a voice in her head. You are the queen here. And only I can give you back your heritage. Only I, my love. Let me love you, Kaylee. Let me bring you to your rightful place. Kaylee shivered, recalling the Aztec prince, his beauty and his power. But her shiver brought an answering shiver at her side, and abruptly, she was standing again in the pines, pressed against the other two women.
Kaylee clutched her talisman and stepped away from the others. Rose cried out. Kaylee took a few steps toward the beautiful figure and stopped, arms held straight out, her palms facing him.
“Rose.” She spoke calmly. “Mama Labadie. You, too.” The others joined her, hands also positioned as though to push the apparition away.
“I command you to go,” Kaylee said, for all the world like the queen she had so briefly been. “In the name of Damballah-Wedo, in the name of Ezilée, in the name of Papa Legba, go and come no more.”
“In the name of the Manitou, in the name of Quetzalcoatl, in the name of Kóhk'ang Wuhti, go and come no more,” said Rose, and her voice was as strong and steady as Kaylee’s.
Then Mama Labadie’s deep voice joined in. “In the name of Ogu Bodagris, in the name of Aida-Wedo, go and come no more.”
The princely figure stood still. His hands clenched and unclenched, and he seemed on the point of rushing toward them. Then he laughed. It was not a pleasant chuckle; in fact, it sounded more like an avalanche.
“I should crush you now,” he said, and the flesh seemed to melt away from his handsome face, showing the bones of the skull, dripping with corruption—horribly, his eyeballs still rested in their bony sockets, alive with malice. In each upraised fist, he squeezed a human heart, dripping blood that streaked down his arms, down his torso, down his legs to the ground. Where each rivulet of blood touched the ground, it smoked and hissed, and a figure sprang up like an animated stone statue, blocky and stylized. Soon, the area around the skull-crowned apparition was alive with these smaller figures, their stony eyes fixed on the women. They began to move forward in unison, each squat figure crunching pine needles under its heavy feet.
