The House on Black Lake (32 page)

Now he directs his poisonous tongue to my ear, his voice vibrating in the hollow of the cavity, filling me with vile words, like molten lead poured inside the delicate winding canal—a torture favored by the barbarians.

“Save your filthy sentiments for those who suck you for your riches,” I whisper back, drawing my painted toe away from the touch of his polished shoe.

“Would you defile your moment of glory?” Roger exclaims. “Let’s get this over with, Uncle,” I hear Ramey call out from a distant spot.

There is a potent pause while Roger sucks in a wad of phlegm and coughs it back up, then his ministerial voice penetrates the heavy air. “You are about to be taken by the feathered crows of destiny. They will guide you past the moons of Saturn to where the fathers reside. Our fathers who came down from the heavens and created the civilization of man, and who yet send messages of light to direct us. Chamborati, Feramoric, Simbula, in humble respect, honor, and gratitude we offer up this sacrifice.” His voice trails off in vapors, floating out and vanishing above my shoulder.

Ramey’s image appears through the faint residue of the dwindling haze. He holds aloft the weapon from the display in Roger’s vestibule, the spear wielded by conquers that is said to hold magical powers. “The mother gives life and the father takes life. I am your father. Those who give and take life live for eternity. It is a gift. Take it. Close your eyes and open your heart. The earth will be a better place with this sacrament. You will change the course of the world as I take you to another level of existence.” His voice is that of a child who has memorized a prayer, but has no connection to the content.

“Don’t be afraid, Alexandra. There is no death, only a transformation of energy. In every cell lies the memory of the evolution of the universe and through transformation shall continue through eternity. In one human being lie all the mysteries of the universe.” He observes me with the small degree of pity afforded a minor pet or other lowly creature before its flame is extinguished. I search his eyes for the memories that bind us, the sacrament of souls joined, bodies united, dreams shared—and a profound vision that portents the unveiling of a phantasmagoric future.

“Close your eyes. Shut them or I will have you blindfolded.”

“What about the vision, Ramey? You were there with me—you saw it too! How can you kill me if I am to be—”

“Silence!” Roger commands.

Ramey shows no acknowledgement of the powerful dream, and I realize he is no longer with me. He has a more vital duty, a responsibility to the clan. And, truth be told, I would rather it be him that takes my life. The man who holds the Spear of Destiny, the godly mortal who once captured my soul, will now set me free of his bondage.

I close my eyes, surrender my spirit to the inevitable, and prepare to leave Earth and enter the eternal world. My senses are acute in this last moment of life and my mind clear, silent, at peace. The chambers of the past have been sealed.

Deep male voices chant in unison and I smell the stinking sulfur of a fire that surely burns something more than chopped wood. I am not afraid. I am prepared to take him one last time. A sacrifice for love is a beautiful thing. To die any other way is tragedy. Banished, broken, my sons taken from me, I have nothing left in this world. I hunger for release: the triumphant ending of my life dispatched by Ramey Sandeley, with one thrust deep inside my heart.

A humid stench charges the air, and an abrupt silence falls as time extends from the moment to the eternal. There is a shocked wave, a tight contraction of my heart, followed by the sound of a sharp blade ripping through skin and splintering bones, a heavy grunt, a rush of air forcing its way through a wind tunnel—and the act of savagery is complete.

There is no pain. My eyelids flutter open to see blood oozing down my chest. Roger stumbles along my side while grabbing onto my bound arm.

“Dear God. Not my father!” André cries out.

“Fucking Jesus Christ, Ramey, what have you done? What the fuck have you done, Sandeley? What in the hell have you done?” Georgie bellows.

Roger releases my arm and lurches forward, grasping his neck while gagging convulsively. With a sickening grunt, he drops to his knees and falls back onto the damp grass by my feet. Gazing down at his prostrate body, I see the ancient spearhead has been buried in his throat to the hilt, with the laced leather handle sticking out of his neck.

André drops to his knees and embraces his motionless body. “You’ve killed my father...” he cries out.

“What the fucking hell have you done. Answer me, man.” Georgie yells, then bends over the body and yanks out the blade, releasing a torrent of blood that soaks the carpet of grass.

“I’m now the Grand Master, La Pointe, not one of your drooling sycophants or your fawning groupies—so do me a favor and shut the fuck up and move your uncle’s corpse to the fire. I now rule. The Spear of Destiny is mine,” Ramey says, and grabs the sword from Georgie’s hand.

“Answer me one question. Why the hell now? Why couldn’t you have waited until the old man croaked?”

“We’re running out of time; the sun is beginning to rise. You know what needs to be done.”

Georgie kicks André aside, takes Roger’s feet and drags him toward the altar, leaving behind a sticky trail on the damp grass.

“André, help him prepare your father for sacrifice. The same rules apply; his heart goes first. And when you’re done, push his boat out into the lake. If someone asks when you last saw him, tell them it was at the men’s club meeting. You got that, Labat?”

“Move, fucking idiot,” Georgie says to André. “Get up and move your ass, you half-breed moron.”

André rises and turns to face me. His ashen face, streaked with soot and blood, is smeared with tears. “I admit I betrayed you, but your trust gave me courage,” he says, then lowers his head and moves to help drag Roger to the altar.

Georgie tosses more logs and kindling onto the bonfire, causing huge flames to fan into the sky. Faithful spooks at the combustion, pulls his rope free, and bolts into the forest.

Ramey unties my hands and leads me through the concentric circles. Spattered with the blood of his slain uncle, he looks like a medieval warrior passed over from another dimension. I tread next to him in a numb state of bewilderment and turmoil—a chaotic stew of thoughts and feelings swirl, none of which make any sense, all contradictory, disturbing. I cannot begin to speculate, or fully understand what has taken place. I want to awaken from this bizarre dream, but I cannot wake myself.

“Why did André call Roger his father?”

“Because he
is
his father. He is Roger’s son with his first wife, a local native. Peter Labat is his stepfather. Georgie, André, and I are the only children of three brothers. My cousins will likely bring their part of the family line to an end.

“The light from the moon is the strongest here, and the location allows for the sun to be most clearly seen when it rises,” Ramey says as he leads me to the center of the first circle. The clouds above us swirl in a formation that resembles an entryway to another world.

“I told you I loved you, but I don’t believe love exists,” Ramey says, and stares at me with eyes like stones stuck in concrete.

“I know you don’t.”

“But you want me to.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Be honest.”

“Most women seek it.”

“Men don’t love, they replicate,” he says in a voice devoid of emotion. “They replicate their DNA in the best possible partner. The only reason one stays is to make certain his flesh survives and further reproduces. It is the law of the universe and we are no different. Life is only geometry, mathematics, atoms, molecules, and codes. When you feel love, it is a message from your body that you have found a superior match. Once the conquest is complete it doesn’t last much longer, does it?”

“I disagree.”

“Women are no different than men.”

“That is your belief, not mine.”

I smell Roger’s body beginning to cook—or perhaps it is only his heart.

“What if everything you believe to be true is false? What if the entire foundation of your belief system is based on a load of crap?”

“I will not be corrupted by you.”

“Illumination is not corruption,” he says, and his gaze softens, nearly imperceptibly. “You’re an intelligent and educated woman, Alexandra. You have the capacity to understand and appreciate other dimensions of thought and experience.” He reaches out his hand to caress my cheek with his bloody fingers. “I will lead you into the secrets and the mysteries, to unimaginable hidden truths. I will initiate you myself and make you my special protégé. Such a bond between two is greater than marriage, or a relationship based on the flimsy illusion of love. We will share a partnership, an alliance of equal powers.”

“Murder and the conjuring of dark powers is not only illegal, it’s evil.”

“Evil is what has happened to you, my dear. Acts perpetrated in the name of love, of justice, of education, and all the other notions of honor and duty that wrap you in dried filament, preserving your sarcophagus. And in those rare moments when you are allowed to fly outside the outmoded systems, it is only as a blind insect flailing against the light of truth, oblivious to what you might have become had you been given the opportunity.”

Ramey is silent as he waits for me to absorb the absurdity of his notions.

“What we have done tonight is not evil and it is not murder. It is sacrifice. And it has been successfully performed since the dawn of mankind.”

“I don’t believe bloodshed creates abundance.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It means I have my work cut out for me. You are not going to be an easy student.”

“I will never be your student, or any man’s for that matter.”

“Your options are limited, dear.”

“Don’t patronize me, Ramey.”

“Join me or perish. Those are your choices. You can’t leave after what you’ve witnessed, unless you agree to become my protégé, and that requires an oath.”

“Since when do you value oaths?”

“It’s an ancient vow of honor and commitment and requires a mark on your body to prove you’ve crossed over, and to remind you of your commitment to the credo. I view it as a wedding of equals.”

“What you offer is sacrilege.”

“I do my business with those who create the dogmas.”

“This antiquated credo of yours eschews love. But if love does not exist, if there is only a universal drive for the replication of DNA, then why do you shed blood for change?”

“Alexandra—”

“We feel love because we wish to create, not replicate, and the bond of two is far greater than that of a single being. The changes you seek, through blood, will never lead to an evolution in mankind. If we continue to replicate and shed blood, we’re doomed.”

“There is no debate. Join me, or I will have to take your life,” Ramey says, and poises the spear against my heart.

“Will you?”

“I will.”

“But that would be murder, since you have already performed your sacrifice.”

“Join me or perish,” he says and his eyes grow cold.

“I wish to hold the Spear of Destiny in my hands, to feel the magic of the most powerful weapon in the world.”

Ramey is rigid; there is no movement on his side.

“If I am to be your protégé and we are to join forces, I ask for a sign of trust. Hand me the spear.” Holding his eyes, I ride my hand down the blunt edge of the sword. His face softens and a sly smile tugs at his mouth.

“It’s heavy.”

“I can handle it.”

“Stand back.”

He hoists the ancient weapon into the air, lowers it, and offers it to me. Grasping onto the worn leather above his fist, I take the full weight of the iron. The handle’s old blood has mixed with Roger’s to create a bright burgundy stain. The smell is rank and flush, like that of a fresh carcass. And it fills me with a terrible hunger, a fierce thirst for blood.

“You asked me to forsake my beliefs and accept your dogmas. I do not accept them. That means, as you have advised, I will perish by your hand in this glen. But
I
now hold the Spear of Destiny, and it is
you
who has reason to fear. I will sacrifice your life to spare my own. I have no choice. Down on your knees.”

I raise the razor-sharp tip to the soft hollow of his neck.

“One easy thrust and your spill will join that of your uncle’s—a feast for the gods on the dawn ending summer solstice. Do what I say. I have nothing to lose, so I’m dangerous.”

He drops to his knees with the twist of a wry smile on his lips.

“If we are to be equal partners, then a new dogma must be written. Your patriarchs are dead. Today marks the beginning of something new. There will be no more bloodshed for abundance. You will teach me the secrets and mysteries, and I will teach you about love. Our union will create an evolution of thought and riches beyond our wildest dreams.” I press the sharp metal deeper into the soft hollow of his neck and ask: “Will you accept my terms?”

He is silent, eyes gazing downward.

“Would you have me flog you before you are sacrificed? I recall you once telling me it is a powerful experience for both the giver and the receiver. Look at me. Raise your head and look me in the eyes.”

He makes no move to obey my command.

“Will you have me take your life?”

Ramey raises his head and looks up at me with disarming eyes. They are the eyes of an innocent, a little boy lost, a child peering up to seek reassurance from one who may or may not be worthy of such splendid trust. I could kill him if I desired, but why bother?

“Do you accept my terms? I will not ask again.”

He breaks into a beguiling grin. “Sure, Baby. I’m all yours. Teach me everything you’ve got.”

“Stand.” I maintain the pressure of the blade as he rises from the ground.

“May I mark you with the sign?” he asks, looking sober and thoughtful as he reaches out his hand to take the spear.

“Not so fast.”

“Good instincts. First you must lift the talisman as an offering to God and then offer it to me.”