Vickie Britton, page 12
Did they really make sacrifice? My heart was in my throat as I inched my way toward that ghastly stone that must serve as some kind of primitive altar. There was a strange stillness in the air despite the wind, yet the night itself seemed to be alive, watching. I could imagine Akerra himself, the he-goat, peering down from some razor-sharp perch above me as I moved slowly forward.
I reached the stone, then recoiled, gasping. The surface was slick, wet and shining. It was drenched in blood.
“My God.” My voice sounded strange and hoarse, a strangled whisper. Fearfully, I looked around for Victor. He was nowhere in sight. I was alone in the evil clearing.
Oh, why did I ever come down here? My heart pounded violently. My head was bursting with the night sounds suddenly all around me. From the darkness beyond the ghastly altar came the first, faint stirrings of movement. My
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body tensed, prepared to run. One of the devil-worshippers is still here!
Then a cry pierced the night, a long, drawn-out braying sound that made the blood freeze in my veins. My legs turned to jelly. I stood momentarily rooted to the spot, hypnotized by that piteous sound. I’d heard creatures in pain before. I’d witnessed cows giving difficult birth, had seen the desperate struggle of coyotes caught in merciless traps, but never had I heard anything to compare with this primeval scream of agony. I was drawn toward whatever lay before me in the darkness like a magnet, my very soul responding to that agonized plea for help.
“Don’t move.” The voice, seemingly out of nowhere, cut through the darkness like the lash of a whip. I stood, frozen, as Ivan came toward me from the darkness beyond the altar—tall, menacing, flecked with shadow and light. His lips were drawn back, face white, eyes gleaming with anger. “I told you never to come here alone. Damn it, don’t you ever listen?”
I made a move toward him. He stood blocking me, eyes glittering savagely, the whites of them darkening the obsidian of the pupils. “For God’s sake, don’t come any closer. It’s not a pretty sight.” I trembled, aware of his magnetic strength as his arms came around me, guiding me away, shielding me from whatever terror lay in the bushes beyond us.
Then he stepped back into the darkness where something still whimpered in mindless agony. The wind made dark wings of his hair as Ivan bent down, thick, black lashes casting long shadows upon his sharp cheekbones.
“One of the yearlings,” he explained. He looked up at me, his expression revealing without words the hopelessness of the situation. I glanced over his shoulder,
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wincing at the sight of a small animal shaking with spasms of pain. A thick, wet pool of blood was spreading rapidly over the dry earth beneath him.
“Isn’t there anything we can do?” I cried, kneeling by the yearling’s side.
He stood looking down at the pitiful creature, his jaws tightening with anger. “Nothing but put him out of his misery,” he replied tersely. Then, he commanded, “Turn away.”
I saw the sliver glint of the knife he pulled so quickly from his belt. Then I obeyed his orders and covered my face with my hands. There was a rasping sound, a death rattle. I shivered. The incoherent moaning, the cries for mercy had stopped. All around us was a heavy, ghastly silence.
I uncovered my eyes. Ivan was wiping the blade clean, sheathing his knife. “He was already more dead than alive.”
His face was terrible as he turned to me, his jaw clenched with stormy rage. “I knew it would happen again. And it’ll keep on happening until we do something to stop it. I’ve been watching, listening, hoping to find some clue, but the men are loyal to each other. They won’t talk until they’re pressured.”
“Then what can we do?”
“The time for silence is over. As soon as it’s light, we’ll call a meeting with Guillermo, Manuel, that fool Esteban, and anyone else who might know the slightest thing about this Cult of Akerra. The roots must be discovered, trampled out, destroyed. And when I discover who is responsible for this madness…”
The harsh angles of his face softened as he glanced at me. “You’re shivering,” he said.
“Ivan…I’m frightened. Promise you won’t leave…”
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“Leave?” A dark brow rose above stormy eyes. “Who said anything about leaving?”
“Brad told me…”
“Forget what Brad said to you.” For a moment, he held me roughly in his arms, cradling me against his strong chest. “I’d never leave when you might be in danger. Oh, Anna, don’t you know me better than that? Now, let’s get out of here.”
His arm was gentle as it remained draped around my shoulder. Then he was leading me away, guiding me back to the rocky path leading out of the canyon. “Tomorrow, we’ll have our work cut out for us—but tonight,” he added with a dark smile, once again my protector, my knight in white armor, “I’m going to see you safely home.”
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Chapter 15
As I hurried past the stables early the next morning, I saw Ivan’s wild black horse Joshua, thundering down the steep path toward the canyon with a rider. I stared in bewilderment. Where’s Ivan going in such a hurry? Has he forgotten that we had asked Guillermo to call a meeting in the barn this morning? Brad, Esteban, and many of the others are probably already waiting for us.
I found Brad leaning against the barn door, smoking a cigarette, staring off into the distant hills. “Ivan and the others are in Guillermo’s office,” he said as I approached him, gesturing toward the barn door. He finished the cigarette, tossed it down, ground out the stub with his boot heel. “I came out here for a breath of air. It sounds like hell’s own fury in there.”
“But…I thought I saw Ivan headed for the canyon.” Who else would dare to ride Joshua?
Brad shook his head. “It was Colleen you saw. She loves to ride that crazy horse and Ivan won’t let her. So she slips him out early in the mornings when Ivan’s out making the rounds. She knows its safe then.”
Voices, raised in anger, drifted toward us from the barn door.
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“You know, news of that yearling Ivan discovered mutilated in the canyon last night’s all over the ranch now.” With worried eyes, Brad added, “Gossip’s spreading like wildfire.”
“It had to come out in the open sooner or later.”
A frown still creased his forehead as he replied, “You’re right, of course, but I’m afraid of what might happen now. The men are all riled up, the womenfolk terrified. We’re going to have trouble keeping them in line.”
We stepped inside the crowded office. My gaze swept the stuffy, smoke-clogged room, passing over Guillermo, who sat behind his desk, to Manuel, Carlos and Victor, who huddled about the smoky heat from the stove on the far side of the room. In the center of the room Esteban and Ivan glared at each other with open hostility.
“So some dead hide turns up in the canyon,” Esteban said. “Happens all the time, don’t it? Those rocks out there are crawling with predators.”
“You know as well as I do that this wasn’t the work of any animal.” The stare from Ivan’s steely eyes bored into Esteban. “We’re talking about ritual mutilation. Sacrifice.”
The corners of Esteban’s mouth twitched despite his outward display of calmness. “What do you mean?”
“The Cult of Akerra.” Silence filled the room at the sound of Ivan’s words.
“Akerra.” Esteban’s lips drew back contemptuously. He laughed, his voice ringing with a strange hollowness. “Bah. Only a tale to frighten our children. Right, Manuel?”
Manuel, eyes huge and solemn, made no reply.
“There is no Cult of Akerra,” Esteban responded for him.
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Guillermo spoke up suddenly, cutting off Esteban’s noisy protests. “We all know Ivan speaks the truth.” His gaze moved over the men, lingering on Esteban, an accusation. “At least one man in this room knows full well the Cult exists.”
“How do you know so much about witchcraft, Old Man?” Esteban lashed out suddenly. The burning resentment in his eyes reminded me of the incident when Guillermo had forced him to apologize to me. I knew he hadn’t forgotten. The tension between the two of them was growing like a coiled rattler poised ready to strike. Guillermo had Esteban on the defensive, and Esteban was acting like a man with something to hide.
Ivan was speaking now. “Let’s not deceive ourselves. We all know some sort of meetings have gone on in the canyon for years. Ignorant men practicing God knows what kind of magic, seeking cures for warts and rheumatism.” Ivan began pacing the length of the floor. “What I want to know is why, out of the blue, has this harmless little gathering turned to bloodshed?”
“Maybe that poor yearling was planted there by someone,” Esteban suggested. He turned to the others, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Someone who wants to cause trouble.” He was looking straight at Guillermo now, triumphant, unflinching. “By someone who knows us poor Bascos will get the blame.”
“Or just maybe,” Guillermo replied, undaunted, “the harmless little gathering has gotten a new leader. He would have to be an evil, dangerous man to put them up to this.” Then he added, with a cold undercurrent of warning, “Whoever he is, I’ll find him.” His stare never left Esteban’s face. “And when I do…”
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Esteban laughed scornfully. As he walked out the door, I heard him lean over and hiss in a voice meant only for Guillermo’s ears. “You are no longer one of us, Guillermo.”
His mocking gaze swept over Brad, Ivan, and me. “You are one of them!”
As Esteban turned away from him, an odd look of pain crossed Guillermo’s face. What does Esteban mean? Is he simply accusing Guillermo of associating too much with us, of becoming too ‘Americanized’? Or does it go deeper than that?
I realized what a vulnerable position Guillermo was in. Because of his authority over the men, the closer he became involved with management, the less he was accepted by them. And the dispute between him and Esteban the other day had done nothing to better the situation.
Esteban stepped outside. As the men followed in his wake, I found myself wondering which ones might be involved in the midnight rituals deep in the canyon. Carlos and Manuel slipped by with closed expressions. Victor, with a hang-dog glance at Guillermo, was the last to follow after Esteban.
The room was left to the four of us. “It appears to me that Esteban is setting himself up as some sort of leader,” Ivan observed with a scowl. “See how he’s banding some of the men together? I don’t like it. I believe he’s trying to stir up trouble.” To me, he added, “Of course, the decision’s up to you, but I’d advise you to get rid of him—the sooner the better. I’ve seen his kind at work before. He breeds dissatisfaction. He’ll turn your own men against you if he feels it’s to his advantage.”
I looked over at Guillermo questioningly, expecting to hear his whole-hearted agreement, but he remained strangely silent, his rugged face set and brooding. Brad spoke up, rather hesitantly, “It may not be that easy, Ivan.
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You see how much influence he has over the men already. If he goes now, there are many others who’ll go with him. Can we afford to lose so many this close to fall roundup?”
“You should never have allowed the situation to go this far.” Ivan reprimanded him sharply, his black eyes angry. “But now that it has, I don’t see that we have much choice. Let him go, Anna. There’s always help to be had for the right price.”
He walked out.
“Well, we can’t run this place single-handed,” Brad commented heatedly once Ivan was out of earshot.
“Ivan thinks we can find more help if necessary,” I repeated hopefully, “Maybe we should take his advice about Esteban.”
“Ivan,” Brad was quick to point out, “isn’t always right.”
“It may be too late,” said Guillermo, his voice full of misgivings. “The rumor’s out now. Probably already making its way down to the hotels. Though Ivan’s hunch about Esteban is bound to be true, we’ll never get new men now until this thing blows over.” He paused to shake his head grimly. “Fact is, we’ll be lucky to keep the men we’ve got.”
“Guillermo’s right,” said Martin DeGarza, who suddenly appeared at the doorway wearing the same gaudy suit he had worn to Tavas’s funeral. “I just came from town. You should hear the tongues wagging. They’re talking about witchcraft, for cripe’s sake. What’s going on out here, anyway? How could you let rumors like that get out? My God, Guillermo, don’t you remember what happened to the Lucky Seven?”
“That was years ago, Martin,” Guillermo replied in a hushed tone.
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“People don’t forget.”
I was horror-stricken. I remembered Tavas talking about the illfated Lucky Seven, not too far west from the Devil’s Gate. The trouble had all started with vague whispers about mutilated cattle. Eventually, the talk got completely out of hand. Stories of witchcraft and even little green men from outer space spread through the community like wildfire. Once word got out, not a soul for miles around would set foot upon that ranch. The few men who would have hired on were kept back by frightened wives and children. Emaciated cattle wandered the nearby canyons searching for food that winter. There were not enough men left to drive them into the winter pastures. The following spring the ranch was inhabited by ghosts. The owners had filed bankruptcy and moved back East.
Brad suddenly turned pale. “That couldn’t possibly happen here, could it, Martin?”
DeGarza looked uncomfortable. “Well, sure, it’s unlikely, but you should do something to stop this talk. Folks around here are superstitious. I don’t have to tell you that.” He paused, then asked with a wry laugh, “Why did old Tavas have to go and name this place the Devil’s Gate, anyway?”
“It has something to do with the mountains,” Brad said as we stepped outside. “See how those two steep ledges slope into the canyon? Sort of looks like a gate, doesn’t it? It’s so dry and barren out there that it could be the gateway to hell.”
Martin turned to me. “Well, maybe you ought to think about renaming the place,” he suggested, and I couldn’t tell whether he was jesting or dead serious.
“How about something like the ‘Blue Sky Ranch’?” Brad suggested. “Or better still, ‘Jackrabbit Paradise’?”
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As we rounded the corner toward the stables, Victor came running out to meet us with great, loping strides. He was excited about something. Still breathing hard, he took Guillermo’s arm, drawing him aside. All the while, he kept repeating in a scared, whimpering voice, “It wasn’t my fault. I was going to do just like you said. I swear. Only, it was gone.”
“What’s the matter with him?” DeGarza asked.
“Oh, don’t pay any attention,” Brad said with a meaningful tap upon his brow. “He’s not working with a full deck.”
“Gone.” I heard Victor moan again. “The carcass was gone.”
I turned back, the full impact of his words hitting me.
Then, suddenly, a high-pitched, whinnying sound filled the air. It stopped everyone in their tracks. Frozen, we stood watching in horror as Joshua bolted out from the canyon path beyond the stables like a streak of black lightning, hooves stamping, mane flying high. His saddle was empty. One of the hands ran out and was lucky to catch his reins. The animal reared and snorted.
“Colleen!” Brad started to rush forward as one of the men grabbed Joshua’s dangling reins. “She’s been hurt.”
“No! Listen.” Guillermo restrained Brad. “She’s not injured. Victor was trying to tell me what happened. Something spooked her horse…” But before we could piece the story together, the startled horse suddenly broke free again.
Now, Joshua was thundering toward us, nostrils flaring, a terrible look in his wild eyes. “Stay back,” Guillermo warned. “He’s out of control.”
It all happened so quickly. There was no time to run, no time to even move out of the way. I saw Martin
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DeGarza’s eyes bulge with fear as the wild, frightened stallion bore down upon us, threatening to trample us with his sharp, angry hooves.
Then, suddenly, a lasso was thrown about the horse’s thrashing neck. I held my breath as the terrified stallion turned, rearing back a second time. There was a savage bravery about him as Esteban held his ground. With a fearlessness that bordered upon cruelty, he brought the sharp end of his whip down fiercely between the stallion’s eyes, stunning him. Then, amid admiring glances from his devoted followers, he rode off, leading the subdued, confused horse back to the stables.
“Colleen! Where is she?” In a shaky voice, DeGarza demanded an answer from Guillermo. “You’re sure she’s all right?”
He nodded. “Fortunately, she wasn’t thrown. She slid from the horse’s back and landed in the sagebrush. A little shook up, maybe, but not injured. Carl says Ivan took her inside the house.”
“How did it happen?” I asked.
“The horse was spooked,” Guillermo explained. “It was that yearling. Victor was to have burned the carcass this morning, but when he went out to the clearing, it was gone.” He stopped and scratched his head. “The way I see it, the dogs must have dragged it up on the trail. The smell of blood drove the horse wild.”
The commotion of the runaway horse had drawn a crowd. A couple of children had come up from the housing to see what the excitement was all about. I saw curiosity gel rapidly into fear on the small faces as they gathered about something on the ground between the stables and the canyon path. Abruptly, I realized it was the mutilated carcass the dogs had brought up from the trail.
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I was aware of many frightened faces as the carcass was quickly hauled away. Hearing about the mutilations was one thing but actually seeing evidence was another story. More rumors were certain to spread. Already, I heard several marveling that the dogs would have dragged such a heavy burden so far. Standing there, I made a silent vow that no matter what might happen, the Devil’s Gate would never share the tragic fate of the Lucky Seven.
