Elusive Hope

by Marylu Tyndall

  “Besides,” she had said, “perhaps Mr. Graves is injured and is in need of medical attention.” Though she hadn’t meant it, the statement stabbed James like a knife. She was right. His fear of blood made his doctoring skills useless.

  Blake went in behind her, then Dodd, running a hand through his mop of light hair, and finally Mr. Lewis, the old carpenter, whose wary eyes shifted back and forth over the scene. Begging off with an excuse of illness, Thiago had remained at New Hope. But James knew it was fear that kept the Brazilian guide away. Even Eliza seemed out of breath as she gazed at the courtyard: the ancient roasting pit, the obelisks carved with the silent screams of victims. “This place.” She lifted a hand to her mouth. “I can feel the evil.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Blake circled an arm around her waist as James shifted his own shoulders against an uncontrollable shudder.

  He’d seen something on the way there, a vision perhaps, a memory maybe, or more likely an invention of his overheated mind: his father pacing through the jungle, head bent over a Bible clutched in his hands, muttering to himself as he’d always done every Sunday before giving his sermons. The sight tore open a wound in James’s heart he’d thought long since healed. Then his father was gone, like a puff of smoke dissipated by the wind. Just like he had vanished from James’s life that fateful night over a year ago.

  The ground shook, jerking him to the present and shifting pebbles over the hard earth. Rocks tumbled off the temple’s roof and peppered the cracked stairs like hail. An eerie caw caw lifted their gazes to a massive black bird soaring overhead.

  Mr. Lewis plucked a flask from within his vest and took a sip, his ruddy face paling. James had wanted to bring Moses—sturdy, dependable, godly Moses—just in case they ran into trouble, but the poor man’s eyes had grown so wide at the mention of the temple James hadn’t the heart to insist. So, they were stuck with Lewis and of course Mr. Dodd, who had jumped at the chance, greed sparkling in his blue eyes. Which meant he hadn’t found his pirate’s gold yet. If he had, he’d be long gone to Rio and back to the States.

  James hoisted the knapsack over his shoulder. “Let’s find Graves, give him these supplies, and get out of here.”

  The group headed for the building and mounted the chipped, moss-laden steps.

  Stopping at the top, Blake faced Eliza. “There’s no need for you to go any farther, dear. If Graves is hurt, I’ll bring him to you.”

  “Quit fussing over me, I’ll be all right.” Carrying her medical bag in one hand, she squeezed her husband’s arm with the other and gave him one of her knowing smiles. “If he’s too badly hurt, you won’t be able to move him.”

  With a sigh of frustration, Blake took her hand in his and led the group into the inner sanctuary. Mr. Lewis nursed his flask of liquor, jumping at every shadow while Dodd dashed about excitedly, examining the ancient writing on the walls, peering beneath bits of broken furniture and pottery, even inspecting the steaming spring. James, however, made a beeline toward the back where a flaming fire kept guard over the entrance to the tunnels. The tended fire, along with the flickering light from deep within the tunnel, gave him hope that Mr. Graves was still alive.

  “Mr. Graves!” James’s shout echoed over the walls, hollow and metallic as if it weren’t human.

  Plucking one of the unlit torches from a pile on the floor, Blake dipped it in the fire and swept the flame over the dark opening. “Graves!”

  A stench reminiscent of spoiled eggs wafted from the hole. Eliza covered her nose.

  “Gold!” Dodd exclaimed as he climbed the stone altar and pointed to a large moon and stars embedded in the wall. “They are made of gold! Why didn’t you tell me there was gold here?” Flames flickered excitement in his eyes.

  “They aren’t yours,” James said. “Leave them be.”

  “Whose are they, then? No one owns this place.” Plucking out a knife, Dodd dug around one of the stars, scattering dirt onto the altar. “I’m staking my claim first. You are my witnesses.”

  A low rumble sounded, much like a distant train. The ground shook. Dust showered them from above. Screeches preceded flapping as a group of bats took flight.

  Eliza gasped and gripped her husband’s arm.

  Dodd stopped digging and leapt from the altar.

  “Perhaps someone or something has already staked a claim, Dodd,” Blake teased.

  “I’m going down.” James gathered a torch and lit it in the flames.

  “I’ll stay here and guard.” Mr. Lewis clung to his flask as if it and it alone could save him from whatever lurked in the tunnels.

  Blake nodded, took his wife’s hand, and followed James into the tunnel, Dodd on their heels.

  Jagged rock formed the walls of the oval passageway, twisting the torch’s glow into angular patches of light and dark. Foreign letters scribbled atop ancient paintings passed in James’s vision: pictures of people in various poses of work and play, some so faded he could barely make them out. Figures hunting, fishing, playing, and dancing leapt out at him as his flame brushed over the moist walls. Most likely etched there by the cannibals who built the temple long ago. Eliza ran her hands over the scribblings as they went along. “They’re beautiful.”

  As if in defiance of her words, the pictures suddenly became gruesome: men with knives raised over animals, blood dripping from their blades, others stabbing victims laid out on slabs, fires blazing, faces twisted in agony. But what drew James’s attention were the paintings of enormous winged beings carrying staffs with lightning bolts firing from their tips. He tripped over something and stumbled forward, his torch revealing piles of rock and dirt that, no doubt, marked Grave’s progress.

  Hot waves as thick as boiling molasses rolled up from below, dousing them in sweltering heat. Eliza visibly struggled to breathe, but still refused her husband’s suggestion to go back.

  Around a corner, a lit torch hanging on the wall revealed a set of stairs leading downward—downward into the pit of hell, it seemed. Rocks and dirt littered each step, and James braced against the walls to keep from slipping. Behind them, Dodd moaned his displeasure, mumbling something about wishing he’d stayed with the gold.

  At the bottom of the stairs, they found another turn, another torch, and ground that angled ever more sharply down into the bowels of the earth. An odor akin to rancid meat curled around them.

  The ground trembled again. A low rumble that was more like an agonized groan rolled through the small tunnel. James’s spine stiffened. Pebbles flew at them from all around. Ducking, Blake covered Eliza with his body. A small rock struck James’s neck and tumbled down his back. He shrugged off the pain and pressed onward.

  “That’s enough. I’m taking you back.” Blake tugged on his wife, ignoring her complaints, pushing past Dodd, and starting upward when James’s torch revealed a jagged opening in the tunnel wall. “Here! Over here!” he called.

  Shoving the flame first, James stepped through the hole, hearing Blake retrace his steps behind him. At least ten torches flamed from hooks on the walls of a large cave, their flickering light transforming the stalactites hanging from the ceiling into shadowy fangs. Two circular alcoves were hewn out of solid rock on the wall to their left. Within each one, a giant pole, made from some type of metal, ran from ceiling to floor where massive iron shackles lay broken. Above the alcoves, something was written in what appeared to be Latin over a single Hebrew word.

  Blake squeezed in behind him, followed by Eliza and Dodd.

  “By all that is holy…” James finally said. “What is this place? And why is it so hot?” Sweat sucked his shirt to his skin.

  “I don’t think holy has anything to do with it,” Eliza remarked, her voice unusually timid.

  Scuffling sounds drew their gazes to a small opening on their left. Blake and James pulled their pistols and leveled them at the spot just as Mr. Graves emerged. Or at least James thought it was the crazy politician.

  He gave them a cursory glance before carryin
g the large rock he was holding across the room and dropping it onto a pile with a loud thunk! Spinning to face them, he withdrew a soiled handkerchief and wiped his face, managing to smear the black smudges into streaks. Stripped down to a once-white shirt that was now blotched in mud and a pair of torn trousers, and with his black hair matted to his head and his cultured goatee growing like wild brush, he resembled nothing of the polished, sophisticated senator’s son from Maryland.

  James almost felt sorry for him. Would have felt sorry for him if he wasn’t burning alive and enduring the worst stench of his life. He shoved his pistol into his belt and coughed, trying to expel the fumes from his lungs.

  “I knew it was you,” Graves said, his tone hurried and annoyed. “Knew you were here. They are agitated because you are here.”

  Lowering his weapon, Blake swiped a sleeve over his forehead. “Blast it, what are you talking about, Graves?”

  But Graves didn’t seem to hear the colonel. Instead, his dark, bloodshot eyes skittered over them as if trying to solve a puzzle. “But there are only three. There cannot be six. Six would ruin it.”

  Grabbing the knapsack, Eliza started toward the madman. “When was the last time you ate, Mr. Graves? Or got any sleep?”

  Blake leapt in front of his wife and snagged the satchel from her hands.

  She peered around him. “Are you injured, Mr. Graves? Give him some water, Blake, please.”

  “Would ruin what?” Dodd fingered his pointed chin, fixated on what Graves had said earlier. “You aren’t talking about gold, are you?”

  “Everything. Why the six would ruin everything, my friend! That’s what they told me.”

  Friend? When had Graves ever called anyone friend? Or been this excited about anything? James handed his canteen to Graves. “And just who are they?” he asked.

  “The rulers of course. The glorious ones. I’m helping them.” Graves scratched the top of his head, making his filthy hair stand on end. Grabbing the canteen, he glanced to where he’d entered the room as if someone were waiting for him below.

  “Helping them do what?” James fingered the handle of his pistol.

  “They call to me, you know. They need me.” He tipped the canteen to his mouth. Water dribbled trails of gray mud across his beard before splattering on his shirt. “There is power here. Power for the taking.”

  Dodd’s brows shot up. “Do they have any more gold like I saw above in the temple?”

  “Better than gold, my friend. Better than gold.”

  Dodd frowned as if there was no such thing.

  Moving to the first alcove, James knelt to examine the broken irons lying at the bottom of the pole. “Who was locked up here?”

  “They were, of course.” Graves huffed his impatience.

  “We brought you some food.” Eliza elbowed Blake.

  Reaching in the knapsack he pulled out an orange and handed it to Graves.

  “You really should come back to New Hope,” Eliza said. “It isn’t safe here, and your hands…” She pointed at the cuts and scrapes all over his once soft, uncallused hands. “I need to look at those.”

  “No time. No time.” Refusing the orange, Graves dropped the canteen to the ground and darted back the way he’d come, disappearing inside the hole.

  Dabbing the sweat from her neck, Eliza gazed after him. “We can’t leave him. He’ll die here alone.”

  “What do you suggest we do with him?” Blake shook his head. “I have nowhere to restrain him.”

  “He’s right.” James dropped the irons, stood, and gazed curiously up the long pole. “We aren’t equipped to care for the insane. We can’t even lock up criminals.”

  “I agree.” Dodd opened his watch and looked at the time as if he had an appointment. “Leave him here. He’s harmless.”

  Blake gave Eliza a reassuring smile. “I promise we will bring him food and water every week. At least until we can provide a safe place to keep him while his mind recovers.”

  Graves returned with another rock and tossed it onto the pile, slapping his hands together.

  “These writings.” James pointed above the alcoves. “Rather curious. A Latin phrase above Hebrew. This one says “Deception and”—he gestured toward the other. “That one Delusion.”

  “You know what they say?”Graves’s voice quivered with excitement. Grabbing a torch, he scrambled across the cave, leaping over rocks and stalagmites with the expertise of a bobcat through a field of thorns. Deep into the shadows, his light revealed a shelf carved out of the rock. He took something from it and darted back, hefting a thick leather-bound book at James. Odd thing for cannibals to have, James thought. Hebrew lettering lined the left side of the cover while a crescent moon and cluster of stars were engraved on the right.

  “What does it say?” Mr. Graves pointed to the words as he leapt up and down with the giddiness of a child getting a gift. “What does it say?”

  James ran his hand over the ancient Hebrew. “It says, The Judgment of the Four.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Magnolia’s blood turned to ice. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. The wolf ’s golden eyes locked on her, no doubt assessing her ability to resist her tastiness as a meal. The beast growled again, malevolence dripping from rows of sharp fangs. And Magnolia knew it was all over. She would die here, her flesh ripped apart and devoured by this monster. Foolish, foolish girl. Why hadn’t she stayed with Hayden by the fire?

  She flashed to her parents. Would they mourn her? Would Hayden?

  Ever so slowly, she retreated a step. The wolf drew back on his haunches. Magnolia’s heart stopped. She closed her eyes and prayed, God if You’re there, help!

  Footsteps thundered. Leaves crackled. The wolf roared. Magnolia dropped to the ground and covered her head with her arms. She sensed the wolf leaping, felt his hot breath on her skin, his ravenous spittle on her hair. Then another growl shook the ground. This one human. Someone shoved her back. She landed in a tangle of shrubs and vines and opened her eyes. A shadow, a man—no, Hayden—had the wolf in a stranglehold, the fiend’s barbed teeth just inches from his neck.

  Untangling herself from the vines, Magnolia leapt to her feet. Hayden and the wolf tumbled over dry leaves. Moonlight glinted off the knife in Hayden’s hand as he strained to keep the wolf ’s fangs at bay.

  “Oh, God, no. God, please no.” Dropping to her knees, Magnolia groped for a sharp stick, a rock, anything to use against the ferocious animal.

  Man and beast fought, growling, tumbling, rolling over the ground like storm clouds on the horizon. Her fingers clamped around a rock. The wolf was on top of Hayden again. Magnolia could smell its foul breath, his animal smell, raw and primitive. She also smelled blood. But whose? Hayden’s heavy breath filled the air. Along with his agonizing moans and grunts as muscles strained to exhaustion. She hoisted the rock, aimed for the wolf, but he twisted and dug his fangs into Hayden’s arm.

  Hayden roared in agony. Magnolia lunged for the beast and slammed the rock at his head. Yelping, the wolf released his hold. Golden malevolent eyes swung her way. Magnolia’s blood turned to ice. She tried to scoot back over the ground. He leapt for her. His razor-sharp teeth filled her vision. But then he let out a tormented shriek and fell to the ground at her feet. Hayden’s knife stuck in his side. With a howl of his own that was almost beastlike, Hayden pulled it out. The wolf gave a painful wail and limped away. Within moments, the jungle swallowed him up as if he’d never been there.

  Dropping to his knees, Hayden gripped his arm. His breath exploded into the humid night, his knife pointed at the place the wolf disappeared. Magnolia crawled toward him, every inch of her trembling. He turned and gathered her close, pressed her tightly against him, his muscles still twitching from battle. No words were said, just their heaving breath mingling in the air between them, their hearts pounding against each other’s through flesh and bone, their minds reeling in shock. Finally Hayden rubbed Magnolia’s back and kissed her forehead. The
metallic smell of blood jarred her senses.

  “He bit you!”She backed away, trying to see his arm in the darkness. But she didn’t need to see. She could hear the blood dripping onto the dry leaves. Plop, plop, plop.

  “Just a scratch.” Hayden’s chuckle sounded weak.

  “Let’s get back to camp.” She stood, forced strength into her wobbling legs, and tugged on his good arm. Sheathing his knife, Hayden rose, wrapped an arm around her, and started through the greenery. “You’re still trembling,” he said.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

  Back by the fire, she grabbed the canteen and an old petticoat and sat beside Hayden, preparing herself for the sight that would meet her eyes, trying to settle her nerves. Blood seeped between his fingers and trickled onto the ground below. But his eyes were on her, an intensity in their green depths she’d not seen before. Despite her fear, his gaze sent a flutter through her heart. Without asking permission, she grabbed the knife from his belt, ignoring the wolf ’s blood splattered over the blade, and ripped her petticoat into thick strips. Then turning toward him, she tore his sleeve from shoulder to wrist and pried back the torn fabric.

  Blood dribbled down biceps bulging and bunching from exertion.

  Bracing herself, she peeled his hand from the wound. Punctures littered his skin like bubbling wells. His flesh hung open, revealing muscle and bone. Magnolia gasped, groaned, looked away. Her head swam.

  “That bad, huh?”