The Black Stallion's Ghost (13 page)

The slough widened with dramatic suddenness. At the end of it, the hammock rose majestically from the grassy sea. A wall of palm trees and live oaks stood at the water's edge, but above and behind the trees Alec saw the grim outline of the hammock's spine thrust up against the moonlit sky.

The captain came to a halt and looked back for the first time, as if to find out if Alec was still there. His dark eyes shone in the night, and he waved his arms
crazily, pointing toward the hammock. He screamed a torrent of words—French or Haitian or a language Alec could not understand. It made no difference.

Alec knew the meaning of the words. The captain was telling him that they had reached
the home of Koví
.

The ground became spongy beneath Alec's feet as he followed the captain into a long wallow. He heard the cough of a bull alligator somewhere in the dark but he knew his greatest danger was stepping into a sinkhole. One false step and, without the captain's help, he'd be sucked deep into the black embrace of the viscous mud.

The captain stayed on the bank wherever possible, grasping roots that were anchored in solid ground to pull himself along. Alec followed closely, staring into the darkness and feeling very much alone; he knew his horse never would have traveled such a route as this.

He saw the glint of moonlight on slime-green water just ahead. It was a backwater rather than a spring—a low point in the swamp, a stagnant pool without current, awaiting the summer rains to bring it back to life.

The powerful stench from the rotted tangle of grass and plants invaded his senses again. He staggered from
the effect of it and from his weariness as well. His footsteps squished in mud and water that had spilled into the slough from the stagnant bayou.

They moved slowly toward what looked like a solid wall of twisted branches and tree roots fighting the encroachment of the swamp. He followed the captain out of the slough and once more the ground became firm, a deep mat of moss, beneath his feet.

The captain's strides quickened as he drove through the heavy growth, hunching over to enter a dense tangle of thickets and vines. Alec lessened the distance between them, his smaller size making it easier for him to move beneath the jungle canopy overhead.

Upon reaching the high ground of the hammock, the captain came to a stop and turned to Alec. In the bizarre light, his features appeared more Indian than black.

Alec said, “My horse could not have come this way.”

“If he did not turn back, we will find him on the other side of the hammock,” the captain answered, his voice but a whisper. “The source of all the other channels begins in a large spring there.”

Once more the captain was on his way, snaking through the heavy growth. Alec hurried after him until, finally, they reached a clearing, and the hammock's spine rose above them.

The captain encircled the base of the hill, which, Alec knew, must be an Indian burial mound. There were no hills in the swamp other than those made by man. This one was over fifty feet high and covered with
lank grass and palmetto bushes. Its soil was composed of the bones and skulls of Indian dead and their enemies. The inaccessibility of this hammock had provided the Indians with a secure hideaway from all who sought them. Alec didn't want to think of what it offered him now.

Farther on, the captain came to another stop. He caught Alec's arm and pulled him around roughly. “Not a sound,” he whispered urgently. “Listen.”

Alec heard a horrible faint sound close by. He turned quickly in the direction from which it had come. A large gray figure passed between him and the silent bushes below. It melted so quickly into the blackness that he couldn't be sure what it was—or if it had been anything at all.

He turned to the captain but the man wouldn't meet his gaze. “What was it?” he asked.

The captain ignored his question and began running again. Alec followed, telling himself that he had seen nothing that couldn't be explained. He would
not
be frightened.

He slipped to his knees but got up to hurry after the captain through a dense growth of high ferns. The wind was hushed, but he heard the murmur of the great swamp beyond and wondered what, besides themselves, moved within the heavy veils of darkness.

A sudden cry broke the silence, swelling to the heavens. A shiver ran down his back and his strides slowed immediately. What could it be—a catbird, a night owl, or what?

Ahead, the captain was running as fast as before. Alec hurried after him. He must hold on to the captain
as long as he could; it was better, much better, that he did not travel alone. How much farther did they have to go?

Finally they reached a deep basin only partially filled with black water. This was the spring, the source of the other channels. The captain said, “He will come here if he has not already turned back. Be still,” he added in warning.

Alec wondered how long the captain would be able to control his fear of whatever it was he believed threatened them. His gaze was not toward any of the dry sloughs through which the Black might come, but on the dense foliage beside the black pool. Alec would have liked to be able to look inside the captain's mind, to find out what it was for which he searched.

For several minutes Alec listened for the sound of the Black's hoofs. He heard nothing but the soft lapping of water in the pool. Then came a sound unlike any he had heard before. It became more distinct, a soft murmur, almost a whimper that he immediately associated with an injured animal!

His eyes searched the edge of the swamp from which the sound had come. High in a group of cabbage palms he saw a movement, a gleam of white between the fronds—then, as quickly, it was gone.

Alec felt fear rise within him. He sought to subdue it by angrily accusing himself of weakness. He would not be led into the captain's superstitious world of obscure shadows and ominous sounds. He had seen nothing ghostly or unreal but some kind of animal! He allowed his cold anger to come forth in all its fury, hoping to freeze out his fear.

Finally he turned to the captain and found him staring high into the trees as if whatever had made the cry was still clearly visible to him. Looking into those fearful dark eyes, Alec knew without doubt that the captain believed he faced certain death.

Suddenly there was a great shaking of the captain's body, as if he was making an attempt to overcome whatever horror and fear possessed him. Alec put a hand on his arm but the captain brushed it roughtly to one side. Then, quickly, he walked toward the trees, his back straight, like someone who had never known the meaning of fear.

Alec watched the captain disappear among the cabbage palms and wondered momentarily if the fear he had seen in the man's eyes was only a reflection of his own. Perhaps, like the captain, he was beginning to exaggerate everything out of proportion to the truth. If he lost control of himself, he would know panic and terror.

Alec forced himself to wait quietly for the captain's return. He concentrated on the brilliance of the moon reflected in the black water. He would not let the captain or the overwhelming solitude of the swamp break him down! His gaze turned to a tall oak tree near the grove of cabbage palms. Perhaps if he climbed it he might be able to see his horse approaching the hammock.

A hunched figure darted from the bushes and staggered toward him. At first Alec didn't believe it was the captain, for the figure was neither tall nor long-limbed but horribly bent and moving forward feebly, head hanging close to the ground and eyes lowered. Alec shuddered and ran forward.

“What happened?” But it was almost as if he were talking to a ghost. He attempted to hold up the captain but his great bulk was too much for him and the man slipped to the ground. Alec looked into a face he barely recognized.

It was gaunt, sallow, and pinched; the dark skin, more gray than black, was drawn tightly about the cheekbones. Instinctively Alec shrank back in horror.

“
What happened to you?
”

The haunted eyes were open and staring. The thick lips moved and the tongue slid from side to side but no words came, only stuttering, stammering sounds.

Alec held the captain's head for a long while, waiting for sounds to become words while the mouth kept opening and shutting like a fish's.

What had the captain seen or done in a few minutes' time to cause such great horror?

Finally the captain's mouth stopped opening and closing, but the lifeless eyes remained on Alec, never blinking, never leaving him for a second.

“Can you hear me?” Alec asked the captain as if speaking to a child.

With great effort, the captain raised the upper part of his body until he was in a seated position; then he began rocking slightly back and forth while his dark, staring eyes remained on Alec.

“Can you get up?” Alec asked, trying to lift him to his feet. The captain pushed him away and remained where he was, his black hair falling over his face; his rocking continued.

He would never be able to move him, Alec decided. He had no doubt that the captain believed he had seen
Koví
. Nothing else could account for such terror and deterioration of his physical and mental capabilities. The captain was suffering an adventure of horror the like of which Alec could only imagine. He must not try to visualize what it was or he, too, would live in the captain's nightmare.

“I must go for help. Do you hear me? Do you understand?” he pleaded.

Alec waited for a nod of the head, anything that might give him some assurance the captain understood. Instead, the man smiled faintly. Alec fought back the panic that came to him quickly at the sight of that grim smile; it seemed to imply that the captain knew all about where he was going and what would happen to him.

Alec shuddered and rose to his feet. He must find his horse quickly and then ride for help. It was the only possible, sensible, sane solution to what he faced.

“Stay here,” he said quietly, “and I'll be back as soon as I can. It may take a long time, but wait.” He didn't know if the captain understood him or not; it didn't matter any more.

Alec walked quickly past the pool. Somewhere in the darkness he heard a single strident note, followed by a rippling movement in the water. An alligator was there, waiting for him, but he had no intention of wading through the water to reach the slough on the other side. He intended to skirt the pool along the edges, but
first he must climb the tall oak tree to see if he could sight his horse.

As he neared the grove of cabbage palms, he heard a rustling in the fronds.
A bird or an animal
, he decided.
Anything but what I'm thinking. Keep going
.

He went on, keeping to the watery edge of the grove, and placing each foot carefully before him so as not to step on anything that might be lying in wait. The full moon helped him find his way and he glanced at it often, dreading the clouds in its path, which hid its light from time to time.

Suddenly there was a crackling noise from a nearby clump of palmetto bushes. He froze, waiting in the absolute silence that followed. He saw nothing, and went on, cautiously making his way around trees and mangroves. Once again, a sudden noise startled him and he came to a stop. This time, it was the low piping note he had come to know so well. He felt his heart beat faster.

Several minutes passed before he heard it again, this time coming from another direction. “It has to be a night bird,” he told himself. “Keep going.” It was repeated several more times before dying in the night.

He walked very fast, never looking for the source of the sound. For all he knew, his ears were playing tricks on him. But the low note came again, from far behind. He did not turn to look back but kept walking, faster still. The note came closer, rising in intensity until it became a horrible whistle. Still Alec did not look back. He would have liked to believe it was all nonsense, but it wasn't. His discomfort grew as he continued
on his way. His face twitched; he ground his teeth, grimly determined to keep going and not look back. What was real and what was imagined?

The whistling continued and now seemed to come from all about him. He stopped abruptly and clapped his hands over his ears. His eyes searched the trees. There was nothing, just as he'd expected,
nothing at all
.

What then accounted for the noise? It resounded from everywhere, swelling and triumphant, insistent, surging and falling, coming from afar and yet near, as if drawing him, luring him—to what?

Was this what had terrified the captain? Was it a cry of madness, created in the captain's mind and now in his own?

Alec ran forward, pushing the long ghostly veils of Spanish moss out of his way. When he reached the trunk of the tall oak tree, he realized that the night had become hushed again, as if the noise had never been.

His gaze traveled up the trunk of the tree with its strong boughs laden with Spanish moss. It rose well above the nearby cabbage palms, and from the top he'd be able to see far into the swamp.

Springing up, he caught hold of the lowest limb and pulled himself to the first crotch of the tree. From there he moved quickly, from limb to limb, higher and higher. He reached the uppermost limbs of the oak tree and had no trouble seeing over the tufted heads of the cabbage palms. The limb swayed beneath his weight, but he had no fear of its breaking. His gaze scanned the sea of saw grass spread before him, and he waited impatiently for the moon to emerge from behind a filmy bank of clouds.

Finally he was able to make out the rambling courses of the dry sloughs running through the saw grass. His eyes followed each one until they became fixed on a single moving object. He shouted at the top of his voice, his call to the Black filling the night.

The black stallion was nearing the end of the dry slough when he came to a sudden stop. He stood silhouetted in the moonlight, as if turned to stone.