by Candace Camp
“She’s right,” Dennis agreed. “The villagers healed me. If I had been with you, I would have been dead by nightfall.”
“But I don’t understand, Dennis,” Megan said, moving closer to him and looking intently into his face. “Why did you stay there? Why did you not come home after you recovered?”
“Because I had fallen in love,” he answered simply. “I married Tanta.”
“But you could at least have told us!” Megan flared. “All those years we thought you were dead. Don’t you know how Da grieved for you—how all of us grieved for you? We blamed Theo for your death. And he labored under a terrible guilt because he had been too weak to save you or even to take your body with him. Why couldn’t you have sent us word? Just a letter to let us know you were alive?”
“It is a very remote place, Megan. It’s not that easy to get mail in or out.”
“In ten years? You could have made one trip out of the jungle, couldn’t you? Couldn’t you have gone to a less remote village and given a letter to someone to send?”
“Yes, yes, of course I could have. I am sorry for your worry, Meg, and your pain. It’s no surprise if you and Da and everyone hate me.”
“Of course I don’t hate you,” Megan replied. “Nor will they. We could not hate you. But I don’t understand why you didn’t think about how we must have been feeling!”
“I did!” He looked at her with tortured eyes. “You must not think I did not care. But I could not tell you. I was sworn to secrecy.” He looked toward Theo. “You know how we had taken an oath, the three of us, not to reveal the existence of that village. We could not let it be destroyed by outsiders.”
“But that would not have happened!” Megan exclaimed. “I understand that this village was untouched, but just because you told Da about its existence, that wouldn’t have meant the whole world would have found out about it. Even if people had learned of it, surely it wouldn’t have brought hordes of visitors to such a remote place.”
“No. You don’t understand. It isn’t just that it is pristine and beautiful, though it is. Very. It isn’t just that the people have not been subject to our diseases, have not been corrupted by the greed of the outside world. It is—well, even Theo doesn’t know just how special the village really is.”
He hesitated, looking from Megan to Theo and back again. “I must have your word,” he said finally, “that you will not reveal what I am about to tell you.”
“Of course we won’t,” Megan said in some irritation. “Theo has known of it for ten years and told no one until he revealed it to me the other night.”
“I don’t know if Theo told you about the people who lived there, the villagers. We thought that they were the descendants of the Incas who fled with their treasure from the Spanish invasion.”
Megan nodded. “Yes, he told me that they still spoke the old language, still lived as their ancestors had done two or three hundred years ago.”
“Well, it was more than that. We did not realize…the fact is, they are not the descendants of those people. They are the people who fled the Spanish.”
For a long moment, neither Megan nor Theo said anything, just stared at Dennis. Finally Megan looked to Theo, then back at her brother.
“Are you telling us,” she said slowly, “that the people in that village are three hundred years old?”
“Not all of them,” Dennis answered. “Only the older ones.”
“They cannot die? They’re immortal?” Theo asked skeptically.
“No. They can die. They can be wounded or grow ill or simply die from old age. But they do not age as quickly as we do. My wife, who, I promise you, looks to be no older than I, is a hundred years old. I didn’t understand when she first told me, and then I didn’t believe. But as I remained there and learned their language and grew to be able to communicate better, I realized that what she had told me was the literal truth. Her father was one of the men who escaped from the Spanish with the gold.”
“How is that possible?” Megan asked, still unconvinced.
“I don’t know the answer. The villagers believe that the valley in which they live is magical. They think that because they fled from the Spanish with their treasures, and protected the religion of the old gods and saved their sacred objects, those ancient gods blessed them by showing them to this valley.”
He looked at his sister and smiled at her expression. “I know,” he said. “I could not accept that explanation, either. But neither could I deny the evidence that I saw with my own eyes—and I doubt that you can either. Look at me. Do I look any older than I did the last time you saw me?” He glanced from Megan to Theo.
“No,” Megan admitted somewhat reluctantly. Except for his manner of hair and dress, Dennis looked exactly as he had when he left New York ten years before—like a nineteen-year-old man. Yet he was almost thirty now. He was three years older than she was, though she realized with some dismay that he looked several years younger than she.
“Once I started living there, I stopped aging, too. I don’t know what it is. I have thought of several theories. There is what they call a cenote, a well, in the village, from which they draw their water. They believe that it is part of the magic. I wonder if perhaps it has some special property that slows the aging process. Or perhaps it is due to the herbs they use in their medicine. Their medicines do have unusual healing capabilities. I should have died from my wounds—I would have, I think, if I had had to depend on the care of European or American doctors. Yet my wounds healed, and with very little scarring. And they were able to pull Theo out of that fever. He was gravely ill. I was very afraid he would die, as Captain Eberhart had, from the fever. Tanta says that her healing power flows into her from the gods, and that it is her chanting, her spiritual connection, that brings about the healing. But I cannot help but think that there are superior healing qualities in the herbs they use in their salve. And in that tea they gave you.”
“It was a foul-tasting potion,” Theo commented, making a face.
“Yes, it is. They give it for any illness. And they drink that tea at all their religious ceremonies. After drinking it, one can see visions. I am inclined to believe that the lack of aging is connected in some way to the religious ceremonies, because the children grow rather normally. Manco looks much like a nine-year-old should, does he not? It is only after they reach puberty and begin to participate in the religious ceremonies that their aging begins to slow so dramatically. Is it in the water? The herbs? The wonderful air of that high valley? Or some combination of those things? Or, perhaps, as they think, it is a gift from their gods, some powerful magic that turns water and herbs into an elixir that protects one from disease and aging.”
“The ‘fountain of youth,’” Theo murmured.
“Exactly. That is what anyone who learned of this place would say,” Dennis assented, nodding emphatically. “There are some drawbacks to their lack of aging. Again, I do not know for sure what causes it, but births are rare in the village. So there are few children. Ours is the only family that has produced two children, and I suspect that the major reason for that is that I grew to majority outside of the village. Manco was born soon after we were married. It was three more years before our daughter, Caya, was born. Since then, there have been no others. There are few pregnancies, and many of them end in miscarriage. But that fact would not stop the rest of the world from wanting to take that elixir. And you know what that would mean.”
“Yes. The world would beat a path to their door,” Theo answered.
“Without a doubt. Everyone would want to acquire that drink, that water, those herbs. People would swarm there, engulf the villagers, ruin that wonderful, beautiful place. I could not let that happen to them. I could not be the cause of their destruction.”
“I see.” Megan nodded, looking thoughtful. “But we would not have told anyone about it. You could have written to us and let us know, sworn us to secrecy.”
“Maybe it would have been safe,” he agreed. “Bu
t I could not be sure. What if my letter had gone astray? What if some curious person somewhere along the way had decided to open it and see what it said? What if the news had seemed so extraordinary that Da just had to mention it to someone? Or had felt he had to tell Aunt Bridget that I was all right, and she had to tell Mrs. Shaughnessy about this miraculous place. Or Mary Margaret carried the tale to the priest in confession? I just could not risk it, Megan. It wasn’t for my sake. I had a duty to protect all those innocent villagers. I couldn’t risk them, even to save you grief. And I didn’t know that you thought Theo had killed me—why, in the name of all that’s holy, did you believe that?”
“Because that is the tale that Coffey told,” Theo explained.
“But why?”
“To keep the suspicion off himself,” Megan replied. “Why do you think?”
“But Theo knew the truth.”
“No. I didn’t. I did not know that it was Coffey inside that mask. I had no idea who it was, and he convinced me that you had been killed by a village priest. That you had violated some religious practice or other, and so the priest had killed you and was after us. I was ill and weak, and he whisked me out of there. Then, though I did not know it, he told Barchester that I had killed you, and Barchester was kind enough to tell your parents that.”
“Coffey!” Dennis sneered, his face twisting with contempt and hatred. “When I get my hands on him, it will be the last lie he’ll ever tell.” His fists knotted, and he went on, “That is why I am here.”
“To kill Coffey?” Theo asked. “But why—I mean, after all this time?”
“Not for what he did to me.” Dennis made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Not even for what he has done to us over the years. But now he has taken my daughter from me. He has kidnapped Caya!”
CHAPTER 19
“Your daughter?” Megan repeated, stunned. “He stole your daughter? Oh, my God, that is the something precious that was taken from you!”
“What?”
Both Theo and Dennis looked at her in confusion.
“Deirdre had a dream,” Megan said.
“Ah.” Her brother nodded, understanding.
“What are you talking about?” Theo asked.
“My sister Deirdre. She has these dreams…. She sees things in them. Things that other people can’t see. I didn’t tell you, because I was afraid you would think I was crazy. That my whole family was.”
Theo’s eyebrows vaulted upward. “After our dream? Besides, the Morelands are always having…unusual dreams.”
Megan shrugged. “Well, I had difficulty believing it. But Da has always believed that Deirdre has special abilities. She dreamed about Dennis. She dreamed that he was asking her for help, that he had lost something precious. Da was certain that you had stolen something from Dennis. We thought that you two had perhaps argued about it. It was why we came to London—to find out what had happened, to recover this ‘precious’ object so that Dennis could find peace. It never occurred to us that the something precious was a person.”
“I have to get her back,” Dennis said earnestly. “That is why I came to you, Theo. You were the only person I could think of who could help me. I’m desperate.”
“Why has he taken her?” Theo exclaimed. “Has he gone mad?”
“I fear he has,” Dennis replied. “He has become obsessed with whatever keeps the villagers from aging.”
“He knows about that?”
Dennis nodded wearily. “Yes. Coffey came back. I noticed over the course of the next two or three years that other treasures went missing. That cloak and mask, for one thing. He was not able to take them with him the first time—he wouldn’t have had room for more than a few small items. But two years later, the cloak and mask disappeared. I suspected that Julian had taken them. The villagers were inclined to believe that the gods had simply used some of their belongings.” He shrugged. “But eventually I persuaded them to put guards in that cave, at least in the dry season, when Julian was most likely to come. And they caught him.”
“What happened?”
“We let him go.” Dennis’s expression hardened at the memory. “With his treasure. He threatened to reveal the existence of the village. That is what they fear most—the outside world discovering them. They think it will anger the gods, and they will lose all their magic. And I know it would destroy them.”
“So he blackmailed the whole village.”
“Essentially, yes. The villagers thought it would be easier and more pleasing to the gods to pay him a ‘tribute’ every year than to have the secret revealed.”
“Why didn’t they just put him in jail or something?” Megan asked. “I mean, he tried to kill you. He was stealing from them.”
“The years of peaceful living in that place have changed the villagers. They live without war or fighting. The ancient Incas used to sacrifice animals and even people as part of their religious ceremonies. But these people have grown to believe that they are blessed in part because of the lack of violence in their lives. They don’t even sacrifice animals now. They believe that the gifts of goldwork and food and such that they give the gods are sacrifice enough. They don’t have a jail. They could not bring themselves to harm Coffey, and they had no facility for locking him up. Jail is a foreign concept to them, anyway.”
Dennis stood up and began to pace. “Frankly, I thought about killing him myself. I am not sure if I could have done it, but I was sorely tempted. I suppose he had some inkling what I was considering, because he informed me that he had left a letter behind for his assistant at the museum. In it he detailed the location of the village and its treasure trove of Inca gold. If he did not return by a certain date, the assistant had instructions to read it and publicize it. I could not risk it. So, much as I hated it, I agreed with the others to let him take things. The best I could do was try to keep him from wholesale looting of the caves.”
“So that is how he has turned the Cavendish into such a fine museum.”
“Oh, yes, he is quite proud of the job he has done with it. He has apparently gained some degree of acclaim and respect among the academic world. But that is only part of what drives him. The fact is, he has used what he brought back here to gain wealth and power. Not just his increasingly important position as the museum’s director, but also power over people.”
“What do you mean?” Megan’s mind went back to the evening before, and the number of well-dressed men and women who had slipped secretively out of the museum.
“He didn’t keep all of what he stole for the Cavendish. He sold some pieces to collectors. Got a good amount of money for it. Enough to set him up in the lifestyle he prefers. But there is more. He attracted a following. He began to exercise control over them.”
“How?”
“Pieces of the treasure are not the only things he took from the village. He realized, of course, that the villagers must have an unusual ability to heal. He was stunned when he saw that I had recovered. Visiting the village as often as he did, seeing the people and beginning to pick up on their language—well, eventually he realized what I had, that these people have an enormous ability to resist injuries and diseases, that they live an amazingly long time. First he took some of the herbs. Apparently he was able to improve the health of his benefactor, Lord Cavendish. Others came to him. He helped them and charged them a great deal of money. He also started practicing a sort of religion. He was fascinated with the Incas and everything about them, including their spiritual beliefs. He began to combine what he knew about their religion with his own special touches. He burned the herbs and brewed them into tea, which he and his followers drank.”
“So they saw visions?” Theo mused.
“Yes. And, according to Coffey, this ‘religion’ helped to bring them more power and wealth. I am not sure how much of that is real and how much is simply his followers’ perception. I am fairly certain that he gained enormous power over Lady Cavendish, her wealth and the museum by ultimately speeding up her husband
’s demise. Used improperly, some of those plants he uses can be very dangerous.”
“So he made the old man well, thus gaining trust and power, then he killed him and gained even more,” Megan commented.
Her brother nodded. “He is a wicked man, but he is clever. He does not miss many chances.”
“How do you know all this about him?” Megan asked curiously.
Dennis grimaced. “He told me. Bizarrely enough, I was the only person to whom he could speak freely. He couldn’t boast to his followers about what he was doing to them, and he feared putting himself under the power of any underling. But there I was. Unlike the villagers, I spoke his language, and I had some idea of the world in which he lived. And I was too far away from England to do him any harm with the police or his followers. He wanted to brag about what he had done, the things he had achieved. So he told me about them.”
“But why did he take your daughter?” Theo asked. “I don’t understand. Does he plan to hold her over your head, so you cannot do anything to oppose him?”
Dennis’s face grew dark with anger and fear. “He plans to kill her.”
Megan let out a wordless cry and went to her brother. “Oh, Dennis. No!” She slipped her arms around him. “How can even he be such a monster?”
“There is nothing that is beyond him,” Dennis said roughly, giving Megan a hug before he turned away and sat down, burying his face in his hands. “Power and wealth are no longer enough for him. Now he wants immortality. He wants to live forever.”
“Like the villagers,” Theo commented.
“Exactly. He wants to live an enormously long life himself. Also, he sees it as an opportunity to gain even more control over his followers. But he could see that even though he drank the tea and applied the salves, it was not keeping him young. Every year when he returned, it was obvious that he had aged and I had not. So he kept trying to discover the specific formula that keeps us young. He already had the herbs, so next he took some of the water from the sacred cenote back with him. When that didn’t do the trick, he decided that it must be because he had not put the tea in the goblet that the villagers use. So he took that a year ago. Obviously that did not work, either.