“Try this.” The Dark Man opened the sugar bowl, scooped about five spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee, than handed me the bowl. He took a sip from his mug and looked content with the flavor. I followed his lead and loaded my cup up with sugar.
I took a sip.
“Better?” he asked.
I nodded my approval.
“You didn’t answer my question. Not that I mean to pry, mind you, but your statement rendered me curious about what this Madame Wong is a master of.”
“You’re not prying. That’s a valid question. I wish I had an easy answer. But I guess you could say she is a master of the arts of combat and of life.”
“The two are intertwined.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”
“You cannot master the one without mastering the other.”
Who was this Dark Man? The way he talked, he reminded me of Madame Wong.
“I don’t mean to pry, but I’m curious too. You don’t seem to belong here.”
“You refer to the saloon?”
“Well, yes, for starters. You look out of place here. Do you live around here?”
“I am not of this place.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To help you of course.”
15
This was the first offer of help I’d had since we crossed that threshold into hell. I didn’t know where he was from or how he got there, but I was desperate for help.
“Did the Goddess send you?”
“The Goddess?” He chuckled a deep, throaty laugh. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose she did.”
“Then thank the Goddess you are here. I’ve made mistake after mistake. First by bringing my friends here, and then I made the wrong choice about who to save first, and now one of my friends is going to be lobotomized because of me, and another is in danger of being killed, and I can’t save them both, and I don’t know how to get us out of here and …”
“Whoa, slow down,” the stranger said as he put a hand on my shoulder. I suddenly felt so terribly sad. I was so cold to the bone and bereft of any happiness. I didn’t think anyone could help me make it all right. Best to just give up.
The Dark Man removed his hand and placed it once again on the cat’s head and stroked her gently. I swear that cat wore a sneer on its face as it looked up at me.
“You cannot give up, you know.”
“Why shouldn’t I? We’re all going to die here eventually. There’s no way out.”
“Ah, but perhaps there is a way out.”
“What? Ciardha said that Brighid made it a one-way ticket. You can get in, but no one ever gets out.”
“Did it never occur to you that Ciardha would lie?”
It hadn’t occurred to me to consider that Ciardha would lie to us about this. Once the Dark Man said it, it was an ‘of course’. It would benefit Ciardha for us to think we could never leave. The thought of being trapped in the Umbra Perdita was enough to make us depressed to the point of breaking, all the while feeding Ciardha’s appetite for turning light into dark.
“Ah, I see the seeds of that realization sinking in. You see, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course. It’s just one of his games and a way to keep us down.”
“Ciardha is exceedingly clever.”
“It’s not clever to torture people or cause them suffering. Look, I’m in a time crunch here. Owen could be dead by now, and Jake may well be beyond help at this point. If you know how I can get myself and my friends out of here, I’d appreciate you letting me know.”
“Yes, yes. Of course. It’s quite simple. All you need to do is ask.”
“Ask? Ask you?”
“I am a humble being, unable to grant wishes.”
“Then ask who? I’ve tried more than once to create a portal back. I did everything just like I’d been taught by Madame Wong and Brighid. It didn’t work.”
“You tried to control the situation. You tried to force the universe to bend to your will, without asking its permission or even saying please. And you did not ask for help. You did not ask.”
“But who am I supposed to ask? And what exactly should I ask for?”
“You ask the Goddess, of course. You ask for her help. She created this realm. She is the one that you will need to come help you out of it.”
The Dark Man was right. I hadn’t asked for help. I had tried to do everything myself. Madame Wong had taught me how to ask the assistance of the Web of All Things. I hadn’t used my training. And it never occurred to me to consider that the Goddess could leave the Netherworld.
“The Goddess can travel out of her own realm?”
“She is the Goddess.”
“Yeah, I know. I just never thought about her hopping from dimension to dimension. So you’re telling me that if I ask the Goddess to come help us …”
“The Goddess tends to reward acts of kindness toward others.”
“And she can hear me? I mean, I just ask it, and she’ll hear me?”
“You wear the torc of the Order of Brighid. She will hear you. But may I suggest that you do what you can to reunite yourself with your friends. The Goddess may not wait for you to complete that task. She is, after all, busy with other things.”
“Then I’ve got to go find Owen. You wouldn’t, by any chance, have seen a young man, about seventeen years old, wavy dark hair, come through here, did you?”
“As a matter of fact, there was a young man in here earlier. Got in a tussle with a couple of cowboys. Punches were thrown. They took it out into the street, and shots were fired.”
“Oh, crap! Was he – the young man – killed?”
“No, young lady, he wasn’t. He was the one that fired the shots. He was hauled off to the jail. You might want to check there and go in good haste. Justice is swift in these parts.”
I stood and pushed my undrunk mug of coffee-flavored sludge across the counter for the bartender to pitch.
“I can’t thank you enough for your help,” I said as I put out my hand to shake his. “And I never got your name.”
He put his hand in mine lightly, barely touching my palm. His hand was ice cold, and I made no move to grasp it more tightly.
“My name is Draicha.”
“Pleased to meet you, Draicha. You’ll excuse me, then. Maybe we’ll meet again someday.”
“Perhaps we will,” he said as I ran out of the saloon and back down the street toward the jail.
I had to get there before Owen became the victim of old west justice.
16
I ran to the jail as fast as I could. I jumped over the two small steps, ran across the porch and slammed open the door to the small jailhouse building and barged in.
There was a portly man, probably in his fifties with grey hair and glasses, sitting behind a large wood desk. He had on a black robe with a sheriff’s star pinned to it over his left breast. I got the feeling right away that this guy was the police, the judge and the jury all rolled into one.
“Mr. Owen Breen, if that’s your real name, you are hereby found guilty of the crime of murder in the first degree and sentenced to death by hanging. Your sentence will be carried out at high noon, which so happens to be in fifteen minutes. Do you have any last words?”
,Owen stood in front of the desk, his hands in front of him, in large, iron cuffs. His eyes were red and puffy from crying. His thick, wavy hair was matted to his head from sweat. He wore a rough cotton long-sleeved shirt, the armpits showing a half-moon stain of sweat.
He spoke, his voice quivering. “Your Honor, I was defending myself. You haven’t listened to my evidence. That guy over there attacked me, without provocation, and his friend began beating me up. They are the ones that challenged me to a duel with pistols. I had to defend myself or get killed! How can that be a crime?”
“Stranger, you admit that you shot a man. And you further admit that the man you shot is now dead. Killin’s a crime in these parts, mister. Too bad for you and our dearly departed Mr. Kerns th
at you learned that lesson the hard way. But ’tis no matter. You’ll soon be on your way to meet your maker or the devil himself. May God have mercy on your soul. Hangman, take the prisoner and prepare him for the sentence.”
With that, the judge got up and removed his sheriff’s star pin from the robe and then removed the black robe. Owen cried silently, his face wet. He looked so broken. How’d he get himself into such deep shit so quickly? I know I’d been wrong about Jake being able to save himself, but I’d been right about Owen not having a prayer on his own.
“Your Honor, will you allow another witness to be heard on the matter?”
All eyes turned on me. Owen’s lips curled into a weak smile as his eyes met mine. Standing there in shackles, sentenced to death, Owen was no longer a star quarterback or Wheaton High’s hottest guy. He was just a young man, not much more than a boy, who was seeing the end of his dreams – his future. I can’t let that happen.
“There are no other witnesses, Miss …”
“Miss Adams. Emily Adams, Your Honor.”
“Miss Adams, your choice of dress is most inappropriate. And you’re skating on thin ice barging into my courtroom like this – thin ice, I tell you.”
“I apologize, Your Honor, for both my irregular clothing and the barging. But you haven’t heard all of the evidence. I plead upon the mercy of the court to please hear the witness that hasn’t been heard.”
He looked grumpy as hell. He was probably on his way to his noon meal and a siesta after lunch, and I was getting in the way of that. There’s not much that’s worse for justice than a lazy judge.
“You have knowledge of a witness to the events that led to the death of Mr. Kerns?”
“Yes, sir. There’s a man, he goes by the name of Draicha, back at the saloon. He was the one that told me about it. He saw the altercation.”
“Well, this is most irregular. If you knew of a witness, you should have brought him here to testify at the trial.”
“I couldn’t very well do that, Your Honor, when I didn’t know there was a trial.”
“Don’t be fresh, young lady, or you’ll find yourself spending time in my jail cell. And trust me, this ain’t no country estate.”
Looking around the dingy little jail, I had no doubt that what he said was true.
“I apologize, Your Honor. I mean no offense to the court. Shall I fetch the witness?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. The saloon is right next to the hanging pitch. It’s most irregular, but I’m figuring it will save me time as I’m guessing your witness won’t change the course of this one’s sentence. We’ll all go there right now and pay your Mr. Draicha a visit.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” I said and bowed to him because I wasn’t sure what the right protocol was, and I didn’t want to piss him off any more than I already had. I managed to catch Owen’s eye for a minute and winked at him. He smiled a bit, but the smile soon faded as a cowboy shoved him roughly in the back to move him along.
Our party of five kicked up a small dust storm as we sauntered over to the saloon. It felt like the judge, who led the way, was intentionally taking his time, dragging out Owen’s time in cuffs and confinement.
We marched up the steps to the saloon door, and the sheriff pushed open the doors. The place instantly fell silent as we all poured in.
“Well, Miss Adams, where’s this witness you were telling of?”
I moved to the front of our group and glanced over at the bar. There wasn’t a soul there except for the bartender, still wiping a glass, looking at us like it was an everyday occurrence to have a small posse of people, including one in handcuffs, standing in his doorway.
I began to panic. I quickly scanned the entire room, but there was no sign of Draicha. I ran over to the bar.
“Barkeep, do you know where the man that was all dressed in black – do you know where he went?”
“Who?”
“Draicha, you know, the man that was sitting right here, drinking coffee with tons of sugar. The man I was talking to just a few minutes ago.”
I heard the jangling of the sheriff’s spurs as he walked over to the bar where I stood.
The bartender looked at the sheriff, then at me, and said, “I don’t know who you’re talking about. There hasn’t been anybody sitting at my bar all day except for you. And by the way, you didn’t pay me for the coffee.”
“Do you want to press charges, Nigel?”
“Nah, not this time, Sheriff. But you better never come in here again,” he said, wagging a finger at me. Don’t worry, I won’t.
I heard the sheriff turn and walk back toward the door.
“As I suspected, Mr. Breen, a short reprieve. Come now, let us get this done with. I’m late for lunch.”
I turned and saw the doors swing open as Owen was pushed out of the saloon and toward the town square for the hanging.
I could see what was happening. Owen was being railroaded by the conspiracy of the sheriff with his cronies in that Godforsaken dust heap of a town. They weren’t interested in truth. Their justice was an eye for an eye, and someone was going to hang.
I had to remind myself that this was all part of Ciardha’s game. These people weren’t real, so it was no use getting all worked up about the lack of justice going on there. My only task was to save Owen. My only shot at my own redemption was to save Owen. If I failed, the choice I’d made would leave me forever knowing that I’d not only made the wrong choice, but failed them both.
I ran out of the saloon and into the hazy light of the town. They were already marching Owen up the stairs to the gallows. A feeble-looking old preacher guy in a dusty black jacket and white collar was standing on top of the platform, holding a weathered black Bible in his hands.
A small crowd had gathered around. The sheriff stood front and center, stoic as a boulder. People were talking and whispering amongst themselves, probably talking about what had happened, maybe judging Owen harshly for what they thought he’d done. I never could quite understand why people tend to gather to watch other humans put to death. Maybe they like knowing that it’s someone else that’s getting it, not them.
My attempts at reason and working the system had failed. There was only one way to save Owen.
Time to go medieval on their asses.
17
The cowboy escorted Owen by gunpoint and pushed him up the stairs of the gallows. He unlocked the cuffs from Owen’s hands but made him put his hands behind his back, then tied them with rope. Then the cowboy slipped a noose around his neck. He said something to the preacher, and the preacher started reading from his Bible.
“For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.”
I kept to myself and hung at the back of the crowd with a full view of the gallows. As I surveyed the situation, I wondered if the preacher’s words comforted a guy who was about to be choked to death by a rough rope around his neck. I spied a trough for watering horses a few feet from me, and I walked over and stood on it. From there, I could see over everyone to the gallows where Owen stood with his head hanging, looking down at the ground.
When the preacher was done, he nodded to the cowboy, who then put a hood over Owen’s head. The last thing I saw of Owen’s face before the hood slipped over it was a big pool of tears in his eyes ready to spill over, his head hung in shame. Then the hood fell over his face, the light of his eyes gone from view.
Maybe that’s why they put the hood on. Maybe it’s too hard to see someone’s eyes when they’re dying.
The hangman had his hand on a lever, ready to pull it and drop the floor out from beneath Owen. It was time.
I pulled my dagger from its sheath, hidden beneath the hem of my shirt. I pulled it back and lined up, all the while focusing with everything I had on sending the dagger to do its work, aiming for the rope, telling it to make a clean cut clear through it. I summoned my inner knowing – my connection with Akasha
– to guide me and let me know when the time was right. I only had one shot.
Trust.
Not a second to spare, I let the dagger fly from my hand at the same time the hangman pulled the lever. The floor opened up beneath Owen, and the rope snapped in two at the same time, dropping him through the floor and onto the dusty ground, his head still in a hood, his hands still bound behind him, and a noose still around his neck.
I could sense that chaos had erupted as people were trying to figure out what had happened. I knew I didn’t have much time.
I took to the air and flew to where Owen had dropped to the ground. I called to my dagger, and it flew to my hand. In seconds, I had Owen free from his bindings, the hood off of his head.
“Stay close to me, you understand? They’ve got guns. We don’t. I can create some deflection around us, but you have to stay tight to me, okay?” I whispered.
Owen nodded as he wiped his eyes with his dusty shirtsleeve, leaving smears in his dirt-caked face. We began to back up together, trying our best to keep the crowd in front of us.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the cowboy hangman coming at us from my right. The sheriff advanced through the crowd, and I saw him reach for his gun.
I’d never tried to stop a bullet with my mind. I wasn’t sure I could. Come on, Emily. Don’t doubt yourself. This is no time for doubt. Believe. Believe. It’s no different than levitating a tray in the cafeteria or bending a spoon, right? Mind over matter.
It was risky, but it’s all I could think of to do. We were blocked in with no way out. Our only hope was a field of protective energy.
I closed my eyes, put my hands in prayer position, and imagined a wall of energy all around Owen and me – a wall of positive energy through which no harm could penetrate. The concentration on that task put me in the place that’s so close to a phase shift, I had to try not to blink out on Owen.
Being in that place is like being in a slow motion, underground movie. As if from someplace far off, I heard voices yelling and guns firing. The noise got louder and louder as more guns began shooting. This was one well-armed town!
The Akasha Chronicles Trilogy Boxed Set: The Complete Emily Adams Series Page 39