Holy crabapples.
My heart can’t take much more of this place. It’s beating triple time, and I’m seeing little flecks of light in my peripheral vision. Breathe in. Now out. Repeat.
“Where's Rockland?” Decker asks, looking around. I didn’t even notice him approach. The darkness is pressing in as the sun has long set.
“He dragged that Malachite guy, who threatened Mini, off that way.” I point. My ears burn. Does he know his little setup paid off for Rocks?
“Oh, hell!” Cupping his mouth, he calls across the gathering to the far platform. “Jez, come with.” Looking at me, he commands. “Stay here. Ah, shit.”
The last thing I'm doing is staying here alone when something is going down with Rocks because of me. Jeremiah jogs over, and they both vanish into the trees behind our platform. I follow.
Tripping over a root, I land on all fours. The earth is soft, and the smell of pine needles reminds me of the Christmas tree in our living room. I listen and hear cracking branches up ahead. Getting up, I half run toward the sound.
“You go near her again and I’ll—”
“You’ll what, big man?”
“Rockland, let him go,” a girl’s voice joins the argument. “You’re hurting him.”
Several dull thumps follow before they come into view. Rocks still has Malachite by the throat up against a large trunk. His feet can hardly be touching the ground.
Decker is up close to his brother, one hand attempting to pull him off the other boy. “Don’t do it. It won’t win you votes. Think about this long term, brother.”
Rocks turns on his smaller sibling. “You think I give a damn about votes?”
“Decker’s right. You don’t need another enemy. Think of your Sire.” Jeremiah adds. He pushes his way between the pair, and Malachite gets out of grabbing distance the instant his throat is free.
“You be careful, naught lover. You’ll end up like that crazy sister of yours!”
Decker and Jeremiah block Rocks as he lunges at the sneering boy. I hear the air leave their lungs as his body collides with them hard. He just misses grabbing Malachite a second time.
“Don’t you dare mention her!” He looks from the boy to his sister, shaking his head. “How could you? We’re blood.”
Light reflects in the streaks on her cheeks. I’m pretty sure she’s crying. “I did it because we’re blood,” she sobs. “I can’t lose anyone else.”
The boys yank hard on either side of Rocks and pull him in my direction. It’s too late to hide because Decker is already frowning at me. I attempt a smile.
Seated back on the platform, Rocks is silent. He body is rigid, and I try not to stare at him. The corner of his mouth has a slight darkish flush. The thumps make sense. The fact that he takes Mini’s safety so seriously makes me want to hug him, but I don’t want to be the cause of fistfights.
Bats fly low overhead and flip before my eyes. It’s so routine now I don’t even flinch. More people are gathering and distinctive groups are starting to form around the platforms.
“I’m sorry,” I say, watching the ebb and flow of the Camazotz.
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” He huffs out a big breath. “The gathering is shaped like a wing. It’s easier to see from above.” I scan the space and notice he’s right. A scalloped bat wing is taking shape as people fill it.
Rocks explains that each platform represents a Fold Wing and the other smaller wings are making groups between them. Wings that are in alliance or have strong blood bonds side together and vote together. I look at the people surrounding our platform and wonder how long they will support the Land wing if I’m involved. The earlier altercation shows that the Land Wing itself is divided where I’m concerned.
Left, where Bailey is sitting, Rocks points out Judge. To our right, I see Zada. She’s sitting on the edge of the platform, swinging her legs, a little girl is sitting on her lap. Rocks nods to her brother and leader, Zander. I ignore Zabreena again, but notice her eyes are on the boy next to me. Next to the Z wing—at the tip of the wing shape—is the Hebrew Wing. Following his finger down the underside of the wing is the group named for Gemstones. Carnelian, their leader, paces the wooden boards. He’s not as old as the others—maybe thirty.
Rocks lowers his voice. “The last two wings don’t see eye to eye with us. The Mac wing, lead by Macallister.” He points to the furthest dais. “And that’s Cypress. Males are named for trees and females for flowers, but all are named after plants. Don’t ever mess with them.” Cypress isn’t wearing a shirt under his leather vest.
That wing is large. The members are dressed more deadly and sinister than the other wings. A young guy is calling the members down from the trees and when he turns my way, I notice the fangs tattooed on his lip.
“Who’s that?”
“Ash. Not my favorite colony member.” The gentle Rocks I’m so used to watching in my room isn’t present. Our neighbor’s dog gets upset every time the UPS guy visits. His hackles rise before the man even opens their front gate. Rocks reminds me of that dog. I’m his to defend and his duty has him on high alert.
I look away and my eyes land on little Moonshiner standing all alone—the only member of the newest wing.
“My father’s ready for us,” Rocks announces, looking at the center of the crowd.
“Your father?”
17.
Attack
Rocks is staring at the Sire.
“The Sire is your father?” I swallow, tasting bile. Rocks failed to mention that when he explained his family tree. I want to slap my forehead for not asking the right questions. He told me his father was Strickland and that their Fold member was the colony Sire. I just put two and two together. I was too focused on his mother’s crazy relationships to focus on his dad, and now it turns out the colony Sire is his sire.
I can’t muck this up. I stand and walk tall toward the end of our platform. Rocks overtakes me in one step and holds up his hand to help me. The feeling of his strong hand reassures me that I won’t fall on my face. A procession of boys and girls holding lit red and gold paper lanterns enters the clearing. An old woman, with grey hair and a dress that drags along behind her, follows them. She’s pulling a tethered goat and its bleats echo in the clearing. I’m grateful for the light the lanterns bring, but my eyes have almost adjusted. The moon is just peeping over the treetops. It’s not quite full, maybe a few days off, but its presence calms me. It is light to the opposing darkness that surrounds me. The moon is on my side.
Rocks doesn’t let go of my hand as we walk to the middle dais. I’m unsure whether that’s a good or bad move for him after the stares I receive from across the clearing.
“Connie,” Strickland says. He looks at his son.
“Let me assist, Sylvana,” Rockland suggests. Strickland nods. And I’m grateful Rocks won’t be leaving me here alone.
Rocks joins the old woman and takes the goat from her. It leans against his leg, seeming calmer as his fingers rub between its horns. The kids with the lanterns form a circle around us.
Next, the Fold members Rocks pointed out earlier join us. I keep my eyes on Strickland and focus on breathing in and out.
“Eeee-yaak-yaak-yah-eeeh!” Sylvana yells at the stars.
I jump to the left and bump into Judge. Looking up, I gasp because in the darkness I hadn’t seen the massive ragged scar running down the full length of his face and neck. He smiles and I step away, trying not to shake. Do not be scared, I chant. His sons and daughter are so open to me that I know it’s just his gruesome look that’s making me edgy.
“We gather in secret to protect our blood,” yells Strickland. He addresses the entire gathering with an air of authority that none other present possesses. He talks of the unidentified attacks, the deaths, and announces that even I have shed blood in recent weeks. This is news to many members because a murmur stirs through the sea of watching faces. Strickland calls for order and begins a blessing.
Sylv
ana’s intermittent shrieks catch me off guard every time. Judge steadies me twice, and I manage a smile.
Rocks appears in the center of the circle holding a carved granite bowl. The witch dances left and right, her skirt forming an arc around her before she produces a knife. My eyes flick to Rocks. He winks, but it doesn’t ease the turmoil in my stomach.
Sylvana takes the goat and makes an incision down its neck. Rocks catches the thick spray of blood in the bowl. Swaying, I feel Judge’s hand on my back. His eyes are kind when they meet mine. I think of Chad—they can’t be far apart in age.
Strickland steps up and slices the knife across his palm, adding to the blood collected. Each Fold member follows until Judge is standing before me with the knife. I don’t know if I can cut myself. Rocks stops before me, holding the dark swirling liquid. I can’t look at what’s in the bowl and am thankful I need to look so far away from it to meet his eye.
“Hold out your hand,” he says.
Judge grabs my wrist, and I hope nobody notices how much I’m shaking. “Ready?”
I nod. The pain is sharp and fast. I look back at Rocks for the moments it takes to add my blood to the mix. The bowl is taken from my sight and Judge wraps a crimson handkerchief around my palm. He’s so kind to me that I feel bad for the fear that gripped me moments ago because of his scarred face.
“Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure. You’ve been so gracious in accepting us.” Pain stabs my chest. I think of all the times I hurt Rocks when I’d overreact about what he is. I recall throwing books and holy water and cringe.
Rocks places the basin on the grass and Sylvana chants and shrieks some more. He stands beside me and takes my injured hand. Ever so delicately, he unwraps the cloth, checks my wound and then meticulously re-bandages it.
I watch fascinated as the woman produces a large vial of liquid and adds it to the mix in a series of small drips timed with her twirling dance and shrieks at the moon.
“It’s colloidal silver,” he whispers. “For healing.”
Next the substance is stirred with different collections of herbs before a fine powder is sprinkled over the surface. The moonlight glimmers across the still moving liquid.
“Ground ruby. For added protection and passion. It boosts life-force energy and is said to cleanse one’s blood.”
One last shriek silences the forest, and the potion is done. The basin is lifted onto the wooden dais. Strickland kneels before her. She dips all ten fingers into the dark concoction, her lips moving in a silent chant, and smears the blood across his face.
Strickland takes her place and the six Fold members all kneel. He dips three fingers of each hand and smears their faces. The substance is a rich red against their skin. I don’t want to think about it.
The blood is poured into seven smaller vessels and each of the Fold fan out and bless every member of their wing and associate wings. By the time the entire colony is marked, the moon is shining high above us.
“Connie, you’re next,” Rocks says, when Strickland has marked his last follower.
Sylvana ceases her dance and steps between Strickland and I. The scent of rosemary and something that reminds me of bad eggs emanates from her. “She is not of our blood so she cannot partake in blood blessings.”
Rocks goes to argue, but I grab his arm and shake my head. I’m not upsetting the medicine woman. The last thing I need added to my woes is a blonde voodoo doll, stuffed with pine needles. Rocks ignores me, and the three of them enter into a hushed argument. It ends abruptly with Sylvana’s announcement to the whole gathering.
“Danger is present.” She points a ringed finger at my chest, stabbing the air repeatedly. “Her presence will tip the scales weighing the survival of the colony.” Spoken clearly and loud enough for all gathered to hear.
I’m the dangerous one? I’m surrounded by dozens of people who remind me of emo serial killers, and I’m dangerous.
Strickland brings the gathering to order and closes the ceremony. All eyes are on me and Rocks. And now the murmurs about the aeronaught freak have an added tone of disgust at the mention of danger.
“Are we done?” I ask. He nods. I know he’s angry because he hasn’t taken his eyes off his father, and a muscle in his cheek is twitching. The celebration begins. A fiddle and tin whistle start playing, but the scene is slightly macabre with the blood-streaked faces glowing under the moonlight.
Strickland looks at his son. There’s a line of people waiting to speak with him, but before he sees to them, he speaks to us.
“I’m sorry, son, but what she decides must not be broken. I should have consulted her first.”
“Our isolation and fear of change is going to be our downfall,” Rocks replies and the venom in his voice shocks me.
“Leave it.” Strickland turns to the first two men waiting—Cypress and Macallister.
I pull Rocks away. The tattoos that cover the bare flesh visible on Cypress show various animals and humans gushing blood from neck wounds. My stomach can’t take much more.
“Give us permission to go after that naught of Celand’s,” Cypress says.
Rocks freezes.
“Not now,” his father answers.
“Not now? I hope not ever.” Rocks has returned to the men. Despite his lean frame, he towers over them all and looks menacing in his own right.
My eavesdropping is prevented by the arrival of Bailey and five little mini emo fairy friends—all smeared with blood. One Beanie baby is securely tucked under each girls’ arm until my eyes land on the last little fairy who is empty-handed. Bailey performs introductions that Kelly would be proud of and then I’m bombarded with questions about how many more babies I can bring next time.
“This is why we need more babies, Miss Connie,” Bailey says, pointing to the forlorn, empty-handed Odelia. The blood dripping down their faces seems all kinds of wrong.
It appears I’ve got my own fan club of five-year-olds. I kneel down and ask if Odelia would like to touch my hair. It’s the right move because her face lights up in awe of my offer. The girls all crowd closer and watch her stroke the length of my long golden ponytail. It’s the least I can do since she’s didn’t get a baby to love. The colony fascinates me as much as it scares the daylight out of me. I can’t imagine Mini handing over four toys to her friends willingly, especially when they are the only toys she’s likely to ever receive. Sharing is ingrained, and it takes me back to the brownie gobbling fiasco.
“He knows nothing! I swear to you,” Rocks yells.
“Maybe not about Celand, but what about killing us slowly? What does he know about owls?” A group has gathered around the men.
“Father, I beg you. Do not allow them to question him. Murder is not what this colony represents.”
Cypress laughs. “But we do understand an eye for an eye.”
“It’s not him!” Rocks yells at the crowd. I watch as he makes fists with his hands and stamps a boot into the soft grass.
“Enough!” Strickland shouts. “Rockland, you are forbidden from going to him. Cypress, Macallister, come with me.” The crowd moves away, and Rocks curses loudly. He turns and apologizes to the girls, who giggle and swamp him, hugging his legs. The sight is so sweet, but I can tell by the set of his shoulders that he’s barely holding onto his temper.
A bat flies in and does one low circle around Rocks and the five girls. They let go of his legs, flip, and follow the bat slowly toward the dark forest edge.
“Thanks, Mom.”
Rocks locks his hands behind his head and tips it back to stare at the moon. “I know you’re going to ask, Connie, but please don’t. I don’t want to talk about it.”
I don’t respond. Exhaustion has engulfed my whole body. I never win arguments with Rocks and know that the Celand topic is a particularly sore point. The last thing I want to do is start another fight.
Decker, Ezra, and Jeremiah join us, but before we leave, a tiny girl that barely reaches Rocks’ waist tugs on his vest.
The strain leaves his face when he sees her.
“Ireland, baby, where have you been?” He’s picked her up. I think back to his family tree and remember that Strickland has a child with another woman. The eight-year-old wasn’t raised with Rocks because she lives with her mother. She throws her arms around his neck.
“I’ve missed you so much.” Another besotted fan. “Connie’s pretty, and I don’t think she’s dangerous at all, do you?” She looks at me and then at her big brother. He kisses her cheek.
“I knew you were the smart one. I’ve got to get Connie home so I’ll see you in a bit.”
I don’t argue when his elbow is offered for the return trip. I’m also glad the forest blocks most of the moon’s light. Looking at him with streaks of blood—my blood—running down his face is unsettling. The darkness lets me forget.
“I can’t believe they wouldn’t bless her,” Decker says. He’s behind me and I hardly even hear his footfalls.
“Don’t start me up again,” snarls Rocks. “I am sorry though. So sorry, Connie.”
I can’t tell him that I’m glad they didn’t “bless” me with blood. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not. It will protect you. I know you think it won’t, but it will.” Rocks explains that blood and magic created them, so blood and magic can protect them too. He believes it will protect him the same way humans believe in guardian angels. When I argue, he rebuts my point by asking me to explain how simply smearing some of his blood on his belongings makes them vanish and show up again wherever he travelled to. And that phenomenon I can’t explain.
He also tells me that even though Strickland said I could be blessed, it wasn’t his call to make. Sylvana enchants the blessing and therefore decides who can take part in it.
“Hey, it doesn’t matter. We know who attacked me now, so if you keep your eye on Malachite, I don’t have to worry anymore.”
Sanguine Mountain Page 26