It grew dark too quickly
for them to explore very far that night. With Jason in the lead, the two white
men had to content themselves with a hasty glance at the empty interiors of the
first row of the rock-hewn dwellings. Blood Drinker refused to join them.
"You will find nothing there," he stated cryptically. "The ones
who carved in the rock are gone for countless moons."
On the following day, loath
to leave without further exploration, Jason and Nolan, Blood Drinker following
disdainfully behind, combed the multilevel dwellings, finding only broken
pottery bowls and rotted woven mats that crumbled when touched. The Cherokee's
words of the night before had proven true. Seated dispiritedly on the flat roof
of the highest building and shaded by the overhanging cliffs, Jason said
disgustedly, "What a disappointment! No clue as to where they came from
nor
why they left."
Reflectively, Nolan said,
"Who knows, perhaps word of further Spanish penetration reached them, and
they left for another place." He shrugged his shoulders. "Disease or
a bad year with crops could have driven them in search of another haven. Or
their high priests might have commanded they leave—who knows?"
Dissatisfied, Jason asked,
"Are you certain they were Aztecs?"
"I'm by no means an
expert, but"—Nolan nodded in the direction of the pyramid—"that leads
me to believe they were. Shall we take a closer look?"
His waning enthusiasm fired
anew, Jason nodded eagerly. Blood Drinker, disinclined to go with them, at
first, remained where he was, leaning against the coolness of the solid rock
wall behind him. But then watching the two figures grow smaller, he reluctantly
made his way to the canyon floor, and with the hair on the back of his neck
rising in warning, he unwillingly approached the awesome stone pyramid.
It was a long way to the
top, and with every step Blood Drinker felt the sense of dark evil increase.
Reaching the top, he discovered Jason and Nolan poking around inside a small
stone structure that Nolan said was their temple for whatever god they
worshiped. But Blood Drinker's gaze was captured by a stone altar, its surface
marred with dark brownish stains, and a shudder of revulsion shook him.
Perhaps feeling some of the
horror that affected his companion, Jason looked at him suddenly and asked
sharply, "Blood Drinker?"
But the Indian was in the
grip of some queer force, and the present faded—he was seeing not Jason and
Nolan but the black-garbed high priests, their hair matted with sacrificial
blood, their ears ragged from self-inflicted cuts for blood offerings to the
gods, and their cruel faces painted with wide, black bands across their eyes
and mouths. The stone altar was no longer bare, and as if from a distance,
Blood Drinker stared at the scene before him, unable to look away: a tall,
finely formed youth was stretched across the altar held by four grotesque
priests; a fifth priest, dressed in red, his eyes gleaming with anticipation,
plunged the high-held, sacrificial knife deep into the chest of the prostrate
young man, and from the gaping hole, tore out the still warm and beating heart,
offering it to the sun.
Blood Drinker's face was
drained of all color, and shaking he stumbled blindly away, halted only by
Jason's troubled voice.
"What is it?"
Taking a deep, shuddering
breath, Blood Drinker spoke so low that Jason could barely hear the words.
"This is an evil place. To die in battle or combat is honorable. But to be
slain like a pig for a god that loves only blood is unspeakable!"
He would say no more, and
withdrawing into himself for the balance of the day, he remained aloof from the
others. He slept badly that night, his dreams haunted by dreadful scenes of
brutality and wretchedness. Sunrise found him standing alone staring broodingly
across at the stone pyramid. He was again on the highest dwelling of the cliff
houses and finding some solace there, when suddenly, as if drawn against his
will, he walked with lagging steps over to the stone wall. Guided by
a knowledge
beyond him, his fingers unerringly probed the
seemingly solid stone mass. Instantly, a portion of the wall seemed to fall
away, and he was left staring at the black hole that led into the interior of
the canyon wall. Fighting the malevolent influence that pulled at him, he
remained rooted to the spot until Jason's voice behind him broke the spell that
gripped him.
Relief obvious in his
voice, he turned and pleaded, "Let us leave this place."
Jason, always sensitive to
Blood Drinker's emotions, would have done so if Nolan, his eyes bright with
adventure, hadn't said, "Nonsense! Now that you have discovered a way
into the cliff, we'd be fools
not
to explore it!"
Drawn and yet repelled,
Blood Drinker gave in to Nolan's adjurations. Torches held aloft, the three men
stepped into the stone cavern. The cavern had a high, vaulted ceiling and
appeared to be almost circular in shape. It was small in size. Through an
arched, rock- hewn doorway, they could see another cavern.
"An antechamber,
perhaps?" mused Jason, and it was he who walked first through the doorway.
He stopped so suddenly that Nolan, following closely on his heels, bumped into
him. And after seeing what held Jason's gaze, he remained frozen also. Blood
Drinker was the last, but he knew what they would find.
A long ledge was carved
from the rock, and placed within it sat a massive, scowling, teeth-bared
statue. The statue was hideous. A deer symbol was carved on its forehead, and
in queer contrast, two stone hummingbirds rested on its cuffs. The statue was
lavishly decorated with ornaments of gold, silver, pearls, and turquoise. A
long- unused incense burner sat nearby, as did several artifacts of gold and
silver, neatly arranged. But after that first startled glance, what held their
attention was the small stone altar in front of the statue, the bones of
it's
last victim undisturbed through the centuries.
Gingerly, the two white men
drew closer, and without thinking, Jason reached down and picked up a jagged blade
made of obsidian, its handle adorned with a turquoise mosaic. He flinched when
he touched it, and as if its purpose communicated itself to him, he gave a muttered
expletive and threw it violently in the corner.
The silence was eerie, and
they were disinclined to disturb the statue or to touch any of the beaten gold
and silver objects that lined the ledge. Jason backed away incautiously, and
his retreating body brushed the arm of the skeleton. The bones fell apart, and
Jason watched, almost hypnotized, as the gold and emerald band that had once
encircled flesh and bones, fell and rolled across the floor, stopping
practically at his feet. Unable to help himself, he picked it up and
whispered, "This I shall take, but nothing else."
Not as affected as the two
younger men, Nolan laughed and carelessly removed the gold band's matching twin
from the other bony arm. "Well, I'll take one, too. If I had a way of
taking it all, I have to confess I wouldn't hesitate."
Repulsed by the idea, Jason
stared at him. "I'll not help you," he said thickly, and Nolan's face
changed instantly.
"It bothers you two
that much?" he asked incredulously.
Simultaneously, both heads
nodded. Shrugging indifferently, Nolan said. "Well, as we have no way of
transporting the stuff, the question doesn't arise—today." Quizzically he
asked, "Do you mind if I come back for it someday? I'd be willing to split
it evenly with you." But again, both heads shook a vehement denial.
"You can have it
all," Jason stated positively. Then he grinned. "Except this!"
and he held up the gold and emerald band.
Blood Drinker wanted
nothing, his only wish being that they put as much distance between themselves
and this place as possible. Taking a long, last look back, Blood Drinker strode
out of the cavern into the
sunlight,
unable to endure
the smothering closeness of the stone walls, and Jason followed barely two
steps behind him.
Nolan remained a few
minutes longer, slightly amused and amazed at their reactions. But then, he
thought, they were very young yet, and Jason had a large fortune behind
him—not a hard man like himself who lived by his wits and whose parentage was
clothed in mystery. Ah well, he decided prosaically, they might change their
minds. There was enough to split three ways and still make each man
independently wealthy. If they persisted in their odd refusal—well, who knew?
The sky was overcast. It was a black, forbidding,
starless night. A silver crescent moon remained hidden behind heavy racing
clouds, -and a cold, icy wind blew inland from the English Channel, snarling
its fury against the rocky cliffs and coves of the Cornwall coast.
Hidden
among the tumbled ruins of an old Norman castle that clung tenaciously to a
clifftop lay a girl, her slender body straining forward.
She was peering cautiously
downward, watching with eager interest the activity on the beach below, where
shadowy figures were hurriedly stowing wooden boxes and chests in a narrow cave
almost directly under her perch. Behind her stood a man, small and wiry, whose
dark hair and swarthy complexion betrayed his gypsy blood. From his protective
stance and the way he regarded the girl, it was apparent they had come
together—Tamara to watch the smugglers and Manuel to watch over Tamara.
A feeling of adventure was
growing within her, and Tamara wiggled restlessly, trying to find a more
comfortable position on the hard rocks. A wistful sigh escaped her—how she
wished she was on the beach! Adam, her brother, was down there in the midst of
it all, and it seemed grossly unfair to her that he should be having such an
adventure while she was relegated to waiting calmly in the background. Glancing
back at her companion, she coaxed, "Manuel, couldn't we go down? Just to
see if they've brought anything besides brandy and silk? Please?"
Manuel shook his head a
decisive no, and giving an exasperated snort, Tamara turned back to watch the
smugglers.
Adam and
Manuel had been unfair, she decided mutinously,
not to have agreed with her suggestion that she dress like
a
boy and
participate—especially since tonight's mission had been her idea in the first
place! The more she thought about it, the further her lip stuck out in a
stubborn curve. Angrily she kicked one foot against a rock, and the movement
dislodged a tiny shower of pebbles and stones. She ignored Manuel's curt
whisper for silence. It wasn't fair, she thought. Just because she was only
twelve to Adam's fifteen was no reason for him to have all the excitement.
Moodily Tamara stared out
at the faint shape of the French packet
Marianne,
anchored just beyond the
white crested breakers that pounded onto the beach. The ship rode higher and
higher on the choppy waves as the contraband cargo was lifted from beneath her
decks and loaded into the small fishing boats that rapidly ferried the smuggled
goods to shore. Soon, in a matter of minutes, the ship would sail quietly out
of this protected cove, and her crew, rich in English gold, would guide the
ship across the channel back to France.
A gust of wind made Tamara
clutch her ragged shawl tighter, and she sighed as the packet began moving
slowly out towards the open sea. She
could
have passed for a boy, and
drat the other two for preventing her. She spared a guilty thought for Reina's
certain angry reaction if this evening's escapade was discovered. The old gypsy
woman was the nearest thing to a mother that she and Adam had ever known, and
if Reina found out that her son Manuel had helped them disobey her express
command to refrain from contact with the smugglers, she would skin them alive!
Manuel, too, was thinking
of Reina, and he grew restless and uneasy, knowing that his mother would be
doubly furious if she learned that he had allowed Tamara, enthusiastically
assisted by Adam, to talk him into tonight's prank. Now, seeing that the
activity on the beach had slackened and prodded by the unpleasant thought of
Reina's anger, he said firmly to Tamara, "Adam should be here any moment,
and it's high time that we left. You wait for him while I go get the horses,
and don't argue with me! If anyone finds out about tonight, there'll be the
very devil to pay."
Tamara's face was decidedly
regretful as she watched Manuel make his way to where the horses were tethered.
After he vanished around the corner of the ruined castle, she switched her gaze
back once more to the now deserted beach. The smugglers had completed tonight's
run, and the empty cove seemed to reproach her for not having been
more bold
and for having lost her chance for real adventure.
Adam's sudden appearance
around one of the black boulders startled her, and she gave a faint cry of
surprise. His bright blue eyes lighting up with laughter, he grinned at her,
waving two gold guineas under her nose. "Not a bad night's wage for
helping to stow a few bits of cargo, wouldn't you say? But you would never have
been able to keep up, little sister, and if you had screeched like you did just
now, our ruse would have been discovered in a moment."
"I did not
screech!" she retorted hotly. "You took me unawares, creeping up like
that."
Adam hooted with disbelief,
and they promptly fell into a good-natured wrangle that ended only when Manuel
reappeared leading the three horses. For a second he regarded them, thinking
that they were, indeed, as Reina had begun to harp lately, growing up. Tamara
was still a child, but the slight budding of her slender body gave the hint
that she was fast leaving her babyhood years behind. Adam, however, already
stood nearly six feet tall, with a pair of nicely filled out shoulders that
made more than one Romany girl stare at him with admiration. His hair, gypsy
black, was in almost direct contrast to the reckless blue of his eyes, and like
his sister, he had a charming smile that blinded.
There existed little
physical resemblance between the children, but as they had been fathered by
different men and were actually only half brother and sister, it was not
surprising that they bore little resemblance to each other. In fact, the only
common feature they shared beyond their delightful smile was the color of their
hair, and even then, Tamara's held a blue blackness that Adam's lacked. It was
in the eyes, though, that the greatest difference lay—Tamara' s were almost
almond-shaped and an incredible clear shade of violet, fringed by the
thickest, blackest lashes Manuel had ever seen. Little Tamara, he decided
sagely, was certainly going to break some hearts one day.
Absently he shook his head,
thinking of the changes the years would bring and wondering if the children's
real history would ever be revealed. But that was up to Reina, he thought
hastily. He wasn't about to dance on the air at the end of a rope by talking
about events best forgotten—even if Reina had lately begun to mutter otherwise.
The dispute between Adam
and Tamara ended as it usually did with Adam affectionately throwing his arms
around his sister and laughing, "Now, now, Kate, stop it! You win—I did
creep up behind you."
Manuel's lips thinned at
the words. No matter how many times Adam had been scolded and punished and
warned not to, he persisted in calling his sister, Kate. Even now, in memory,
Manuel could see him, a bewildered five-year-old,
his
blue eyes cloudy with confusion crying, "She is
not
Tamara—she's
Kate!
Bless the devil that no one
questioned that oddity! Manuel thought grimly and said, "Lower your
voices, you two. There could be revenue agents about, and we don't need them
finding us here."
Instantly Adam and Tamara
fell silent and walked quickly over to him. He handed them the reins to their
horses, and with lithe grace they both swung up onto the bare backs of the
animals. Manuel was a little in front of them, looking in their direction and
preparing to mount his own horse, when the sudden, dismayed expression on
Tamara's face made him whirl around.
His face blanched; there
before them, her eyes snapping with fury, her thin shoulders covered with a
crimson shawl as ragged as Tamara's, stood Reina. That she was angry was very
apparent—it vibrated from her, and Manuel, who was forty years old, suddenly
felt like a frightened child.
A deathly quiet descended,
and Reina let them simmer in it as she surveyed the three guilty faces.
"So," she said at last, "this is how you spend your
evenings."
Manuel swallowed.
"Now, Reina," he began, but she cut him off with a furious movement
of her hand.
"You lumping maggot!
Silence! You shall answer to me later. And you"—her eyes were hard and
without the usual glimmer of affection in their depths as they swept over Adam
and Tamara—"shall regret this evening's work for a long time to
come."
Instinctively the two
huddled together. They had seen Reina angry before and often at them, but never
like this. There was something faintly ominous in her words, and a shiver of
unease trickled down Tamara's spine. Adam made a halfhearted attempt to wheedle
Reina out of her current fury, but it fell flat, and after she had given them
the rough side of her tongue, she ordered them to return to the gypsy camp.
Chastened and apprehensive, they threw Manuel a glance of commiseration and
fled, leaving him to face the full brunt of his mother's wrath.
And face it he did. Reina
gave him such a tongue-lashing that when at last she subsided, he was nearly
limp. She glared at him and then spun on her heels and began marching the mile
or so to where they were camped. Meekly, leading his horse, Manuel walked by
his mother's side. He stole a glance at her set features. Seeing that the
worst of her hot anger had abated, he asked somberly, "What do you intend
to do? Beat them? Adam is no longer a child, he would not submit to it, nor
will he allow you to do the same to Tamara. So how will you punish them?"
His words hung in the air,
and Reina seemed to shrivel and grow older before his eyes. She gave a heavy
sigh, and Manuel's conscience bothered him. He had been as much at fault
tonight as the two young ones—more so, because he knew better. He should have
known Reina would discover them—she always did. Looking at her worn features,
he realized that Reina was growing old. Too old, he thought, to control a
lively pair like Adam and Tamara. It was no use telling himself that he should
take them in hand—no one knew better than he that he was like wax in their
eager young hands, particularly Tamara's, the little minx.
They continued on in
silence, and Manuel had come to the conclusion that Reina was ignoring his
earlier question when she said suddenly. "I don't intend to punish
them." And then she added grimly, "Although what I have decided upon
may seem to them like a vilest possible punishment I could inflict."
Worried and slightly
mystified, Manuel stared at her, but she would say no more. And after a moment,
he shocked himself by blurting out, "We did wrong in stealing them,
Reina. We should never have allowed ourselves to be tempted by that man's
gold."
"Manuel, we've been
over this a dozen times in the past ten years," she said tiredly.
"Yes, we were wrong to take them, but at least we didn't murder them as ordered.
What real harm have we done? Besides, if we hadn't agreed to do it, the money
would only have been given to someone else—someone who wouldn't have hesitated
to slit their throats and throw the bodies
down
a
well. Maybe we were wrong—but we needed the gold badly, and Adam and Tamara
have been happy. I doubt if they even remember."
"I don't know,"
Manuel mused. "Sometimes I think Adam does—
specially
since we've started coming back to this area these last few years. Tamara
wouldn't, she was only a baby, barely two years old. I've always wondered why
he wanted both children taken. Tamara was the only one who was a threat.
Why Adam, too?"
Reina shot him a derisive
look. "He was taking no chances on the boy inheriting. A stepson would
have done as well if there were no other heirs."
Manuel agreed but added
stubbornly, "It still wasn't good what we did."
"Oh, hush!" she
said angrily. "Don't drivel on about good or bad. There are no such
things. It is merely in how you look at things. We took them, and we've cared for
them. Now is not the time for you to turn squeamish."
Manuel subsided, and there
was no more conversation between them. They reached the cluster of caravans and
shabby tents that comprised the settlement and parted, Manuel going to take
care of his horse and Reina entering a large tent near the center of the camp.
Tamara was curled on her
pallet on the ground. Warily she watched Reina as the gypsy woman prepared for
bed. It was only when Reina had
laid
herself down that
Tamara was able to relax and try to sleep. But she slept badly and woke the
next morning with a feeling of impending doom. Reina was withdrawn and aloof,
as if her displeasure with them had not yet abated. Even Adam's persistent
attempts to make the old woman smile met with no response other than a
preoccupied stare. He made a rueful grimace at Tamara as they sat on the ground
near one of the blazing fires eating their breakfast of warm broth and black
bread.
"What do you think she
means to do?" Tamara asked softly, her violet eyes wide and anxious, and
her bottom lip showing a tendency to tremble. She did not like to cause Reina
pain and she was, at the moment, feeling very guilty. Tomorrow she would laugh,
but right now her spirit was unusually subdued. Adam gave her a quick hug, and
it was thus that Reina found them. She stared at them a long second, then asked
coldly, "Have you finished?"