Vickie Britton, page 6
“Hush,” I heard him whisper, his rough voice softening, taking on the strange, musical lilt of his native tongue as he murmured soothing words to her. “No matter what happens tomorrow, you’ll never be forced to leave.” I heard him make the promise as I slipped silently away.
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Chapter 7
The wine kegs grew lighter. Laughter echoed in the cool night air, rising above music that had become merry and boisterous. Tavas’s wake was rapidly becoming a brawl. The bonfire spread its hot-orange glow over the flushed faces of singers and dancers and old folks keeping time to the harmonica with tapping heels. It seemed that Tavas had been all but forgotten, yet I knew that his spirit remained deep inside the hearts of his men.
Guillermo had returned to the party, and was drinking with some of the other ranch hands, keeping up the pretense of joviality. For a moment, unnoticed by the others, he turned away. His shoulders were heavy, his rugged face dark and sad. I knew he was thinking about Tavas. Someone nudged his arm and, wearily, he raised his glass and smiled.
Esteban whirled a woman to the music. His black eyes glittered as he gazed upon his partner. She looked up at him seductively, ruby lips parted, green eyes shining as she brushed up against him. She was a mass of emerald lace and golden hair as she twisted and turned, greeting the rapid pulse of the music with boundless zeal. Whatever ailment had prevented Colleen from attending Tavas’s burial this afternoon, I mused wryly, had undergone a miracle cure.
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“Don’t look so surprised,” remarked a deep voice from behind. Then Ivan was there at my side, watching the two of them dance, his eyes guarded. “Music always seems to rejuvenate her. Or maybe it’s the wine…” I could tell by the tension in his voice that anger smoldered beneath his calm exterior. Was he outraged by Colleen’s unfitting behavior—or jealous of Esteban?
“Why haven’t you joined in on the merriment?” His voice was brusque, filled with unfocused anguish. “Isn’t this…farce what Tavas demanded of us?”
I lowered my gaze from his. “The idea of dancing so soon after his burial…sickens me.”
“My wife obviously doesn’t share your opinion.” His voice softened as he added, “Though I must admit that dancing’s the last thing on my mind tonight, too. Tavas would disown us, you know. He’d say that we’ve become…too Americanized.”
“I don’t care. Ivan, I need to…to get away from here.”
As always, he seemed to understand. Taking my arm lightly, he guided me away. We walked together in silence until the music faded to nothing and the bonfire was a pale orange blur. We walked until the steep, sheer walls of the canyon gaped below us.
The wind blew furiously, whipping at our hair and clothing as we stood on the rocks, looking downward. It was as if suddenly we stood at the edge of the world, down on the very brink of Hell.
Gnarled trees beckoned up at us with grasping hands. The jagged rocks rose like the crooked spine of some prehistoric monster. I glanced over at Ivan, realizing that he, too, was caught up in the mystique of the canyon’s weird, desolate beauty.
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“You and Tavas used to tell me that those trees were witches frozen by some wicked spell,” I accused, pointing down to where the three darkest trees wavered like figures in motion below us, halfway down the steep canyon.
“What was the rest of the legend? Oh, yes—I remember now. When the moon appeared, the trees were supposed to come to life to dance with their master until sunrise turned them back into wood.”
“And their master was Akerra,” Ivan acknowledged, his dark eyes glowing with deep brilliance as he turned to me. “The Devil’s familiar.”
“Tavas said he saw Akerra once. He was standing upon the rocks over there.” The spiraling walls of the opposite side of the canyon were shrouded in misty darkness against white moonlight. One could almost imagine Akerra’s immense, black shape prancing upon that saw-toothed ledge, the he-goat, evil horns aglow, cloven hooves catching moonlight.
“Just another tale,” Ivan confessed with a laugh, “to keep little girls from wandering too far from the house after dark.”
“Like the Cult of Akerra?”
For a moment, he didn’t reply. Then he answered carefully, “Just beyond those trees is a small clearing. In the middle of the clearing is an old stone carved with Basque inscriptions. I came across it when I was out riding one day. I saw ashes from an old fire, tallow upon the rocks, evidence that some sort of ritual had been practiced.” The stare from his obsidian eyes met mine in the darkness. “I believe a secret gathering meets here in the canyons at night—but not the Cult of Akerra. The Cult always involves animal mutilation and bloody sacrifice. Sometimes even human sacrifice. Nothing like that’s ever happened here.”
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I shivered, remembering the bull found in the nearby ravine. If Ivan knew about that grisly discovery… “Will you walk with me down there, Ivan? I want to see the stone.”
He glanced over at me in surprise. “Tonight?”
“Why not?”
“It’s getting late.” He hesitated, glancing up at the sky. “I’m not sure I can even find it.” He paced the canyon ledge, finding a place where the rocks parted, forming a rugged passage into the canyon, then motioned for me to follow.
Breathless, we reached the spot where the three old trees grew together, moving in the wind above us like withered spirits caught in some mystical spell. Tangled branches threw long shadows across Ivan’s face as we passed below them.
We stepped further into the clearing. Yellow rocks surrounded us. Black sagebrush rustled beneath our feet.
“Anna. Look at this.” As I caught up with him, I noticed the tell-tale signs. Rings of ashes from a recent fire. Strange drawings scraped into the dry earth. Drippings of tallow from many candles stained the mottled stones.
“Someone’s been here,” I whispered.
“Yes, and not long ago.” He bent down to examine the cold ashes where the fire had once burned.
“There it is.” Partially hidden by dense black sagebrush was the stone. Ivan moved forward. I sensed something was wrong as I came up behind him. He stood, staring down at the large, misshapen gray boulder tattooed with its seemingly meaningless symbols and odd inscriptions, a frightening look upon his face. He moved a finger curiously along the rough surface, tracing the dark streaks dried on the rocks. His voice was thick, puzzled. “Blood.”
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My heart pounded sickly in my chest as I thought of the mutilated bull found in the ravine not far from here.
“Sacrifice…” He turned toward me, his voice strange, questioning. “But how is this possible? Anna?”
He was watching me closely. I realized I’d been staring in trance-like horror at the terrible stone.
“You know something about this.”
I glanced away from him. “Nothing.”
He took my shoulders, forcing me around to face him, his dark eyes demanding answers. “You’re keeping something from me. I can tell.” Suspiciously, he added, “Why did you want to come down here?”
Anger made him look taller and darker, a stranger in the unrelieved gloom. “If you don’t tell me now,” he warned, “it’ll be only a matter of time before I find out.”
Remembering my promise to Brad, I hesitated. Yet, what harm could it do for him to know now? Tavas was buried. The news could no longer disturb him. Ivan would have to be told sooner or later. Taking a deep breath, I explained to him what I knew about the dead bull discovered in the canyons by Brad, Guillermo, Esteban and the others.
His eyes were black with fury. “Why in God’s name did you keep it from me?”
“Brad made me promise. He said he didn’t want to upset you. With Tavas so ill and all the rest, he thought that you and Alice had enough on your minds.”
“Is that what he told you?” He laughed, the hollow sound echoing against the rocks. “Damn him,” he cursed suddenly. “I’ve suspected something like this ever since I came back this summer. If only he’d leveled with me. Maybe I could have done something.”
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“Ivan, try to understand his reasons. Brad was only doing what he thought was best.”
Obviously curbing his anger, he replied, “Well, it’s too late to worry about that now. Brad’s right about one point. If any rumor of Devil-worship leaks out, all hell will break loose. Do you have any idea of the situation we’re up against?”
Wordlessly, I nodded.
“Who knows about this?”
“Besides Brad and Guillermo, there’s Manuel, and the new hand, Carl. Victor, too—he burned the carcass. And Esteban—”
“Esteban.” His lips tightened at the name. “Heaven help us.”
“Brad’s worried about him, too. I think he’s had to bribe him to keep his mouth shut.”
“I’ll have a talk with Brad.”
“Guillermo’s trying to find out what he can.”
Ivan nodded. “Good idea. We can trust Guillermo. We have to find out who the ringleader is behind this madness, but we don’t want to start a panic.” Something in his abrupt tone changed. “In the meantime, Anna, don’t you ever come out here alone. I mean it now more than I ever meant it when you were a child. It’s not safe to be out here after dark.”
“Are you going back to the wake?” Ivan asked as we reached the rim of the canyon. In the distance, the bonfire still flickered. Music carried on the wind toward us, slow and mournful now, like the crying of a lost spirit.
“No, to the house.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
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The barn and stables were filled with ghostly shadows, making me grateful for his companionship. The huge, misshapen cactus plants bordering Alice’s garden assumed defensive positions in the darkness, like wild-armed scarecrows deftly guarding the withered tomato vines and scraggly fruit trees.
Ivan walked with me up to the white porch. Hand on the doorknob, I turned back to see him moving away through the garden. “Ivan—you’re not going back there.”
“Don’t worry,” he whispered back to me. “Please…go on inside.” I hesitated at the half-opened door, watching him fade into the night.
“Who’s there?” called an anxious voice from inside the family room.
“Just me, Alice,” I replied.
“Well, come on in,” she insisted. “You’re letting in the cold air.”
I stepped into the cozy room warmed by the crackling fire. Alice sat on the sofa, a book lying neglected beside her needlework. “Well, this is one day I’m glad is over,” she said as I sank down on one of the chairs near the fire.
“It’s been endless,” I replied.
She sighed wearily. “I’m exhausted, but there’s no use going to bed. I sit up like an owl half the night. Then the minute my head hits the pillow, I’m wide awake. I just toss and turn and lie there listening—”
“Listening?” I repeated, curious. “Listening for what, Alice?”
“I’m not sure,” she replied with an alarmed look. “For Tavas to call out for his water or his medicine, I guess. Yes, that must be it.” Almost as if to convince herself, she added, “I’ve stayed up nights for so long it’s become a habit.”
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I stared at her. Is it really habit that’s keeping Alice awake? Or does she, too, lie awake listening for strange, unnatural sounds in the night? Does the whispering wind sound to her like the chant of elusive voices? Is she, too, waiting wide-eyed for another muted shriek to pierce the stillness?
I looked down at the olive-colored book by the needlework.
“I’ve taken up reading until all hours,” she confessed, following my gaze.
“What do you have there?”
“Just an old book from Tavas’s collection. I…was just thumbing through it,” she explained, almost defensively. “The subject doesn’t interest me at all. In fact, I was going to put it back.”
“Oh? What’s it about?” I asked, curiosity aroused. The book looked vaguely familiar.
With seeming reluctance, she handed the book to me. A feeling of recognition grew as I weighed the feather-light volume in my hands. The book was part of Tavas’s special collection, the few rare books he allowed no one to touch. Most were written in the Basque language, but a few, like this one, were English translations. Printed in the early 1800’s, the book I held was a translation of an obscure Basque work dating back to the sixteenth century. The title, A Historie of the Basque Sorcery, made a chill sweep over me.
“Alice, did you say you were through with this? I’d like to take it with me to my room tonight.”
“I wouldn’t think you’d be interested in witchcraft and that sort of nonsense.” She laughed uneasily as she spoke. I could see she watched me closely, black eyes shining in her gaunt, tired face.
“I’m not. I…I’ve been having trouble sleeping, too.”
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“That book’s apt to give you nightmares. Maybe you should find another one.”
She was looking at the book oddly, as if secretly reluctant to part with it. “If you aren’t finished…” I offered the book back to her.
“No,” she insisted with sudden spirit, as if I might refuse it. “You take it.”
“Well, it’s getting late,” I said, rising from my chair.
“The book’s just nonsense. Mind you, don’t believe a word of it.”
“I won’t, Alice,” I replied with a laugh. “Don’t worry.”
I was halfway across the room when something compelled me to look back at her. Alice sat staring into the dying glow of the fire. Her lips were moving silently, as if in prayer. I watched, mesmerized, as her hand moved upward, toward her chest. The firelight caught the sudden glint of gold from her simple wedding band as her thin, strong fingers deftly formed the sign of the cross.
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Chapter 8
Back in my room, I hastily prepared for bed, glad to exchange the somber mourning clothes for my comfortable blue gown and robe. I settled in on the bed, the faded, olive-colored book in hand, and began to read:
“I, Michael Ignacio, have witnessed the evil work of witches and daemons in our small village and do fear. The Sorguinak among us have caused disease to fall upon our flocks and have made the fields barren. It is our duty to seek out from among us and punish those who are part of this evil.”
I read on with mingled fascination and horror, realizing that the author of the narrative was a self-appointed witch-hunter. I knew that some of the most wicked witch-hunts of the Inquisition took place in the Basque Provinces whose isolated villages were a breeding ground for fear and superstition.
A black marker slipped from the place where Alice had been reading. The title of the marked passage caught my eye:
My witnessed account of a meeting of the Cult of Akerra.
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I was returning to the village late one evening with a load of wood upon my back when I did stop, hearing a sound overhead like the flapping of bird’s wings. The Sorguinak were flying to their meeting-place upon sticks and brooms. I followed them to a deserted place in the mountains high above the village, and there they did dance, men and women alike, and they did summon the Devil.
And, as I hid myself behind a big tree, I saw the Devil appear to them in the form of an enormous black He-goat. Before my frightened eyes he did transform himself into a male most handsome and magnificent, but with the mark upon him in the form of a horn upon his forehead and a sign of a frog’s foot in the left eye.
As I did crouch in much horror, I saw the lesser daemons and witches kissing the feet of their Master, and there was more dancing and acts of unspeakable evil.
And as I stole away into the night, afeared for my life, I heard the screams of a woman. And I said my prayers, knowing that they had made sacrifice. God save us all from the power of Akerra, the Evil One.
I stared down at the passage, wondering if the marker had been left in that particular place by chance or on purpose. Alice’s odd behavior tonight led me to believe that she’d wanted me to read the book—indeed, had intended for me to read it all along. Alice had pretended to scoff at the contents of the book, yet I knew she had a superstitious side to her nature. Alice was afraid…
I scanned more yellowed pages, sickened by the graphic account of a trial which followed where an old woman, accused of dancing and cavorting with the Devil,
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was burned at the stake because, ‘on her we found the mark of Satan’.
I put the book aside, appalled. The narrator’s genuine belief in witchcraft was disturbing. From his matter-of-fact account of the grossly unfair trial, I caught a taste of the fear and panic that had swept across the country like an epidemic, robbing rational men of their senses.
My eyes were growing blurry from lack of sleep and straining to read the fine print. My thoughts were becoming hazy and confused. Tomorrow, bright and early, Martin DeGarza would be over to read Tavas’s will. I was certain that Tavas had left the ranch to Ivan. I’d wait long enough to see everything settled, then I would go back to Reno.
I crossed over to the window, staring out into the cold, dark night. Could such a panic happen here? Of course not. This was modern-day Nevada, not some remote village in the Pyrenees, at the height of the Inquisition. Still, I remembered several newspaper articles I’d read recently about devil-worship being practiced in other parts of the country. I thought about Ivan, still out there all alone, and shivered.
I turned off the lights and lay down upon the bed, pulling the comforters up around me—but all of my reading about the Cult of Akerra had made me restless. True to Alice’s predictions, my dreams were twisted nightmares. A man kept coming toward me through a shroud of mist. As he moved closer, I saw that it was Ivan, but as he came nearer, a horn appeared upon his forehead and in his eye glittered a dark speck, a sign like the mark of a toad.
Martin DeGarza made a grand spectacle of unrolling his papers and adjusting his reading glasses. He glanced about the family room once to make certain we were all present.
