by J. F. Penn
She looked at her watch, wondering what he was doing right now on the other side of the Atlantic.
14
Louisiana bayou, USA.
Naomi gasped, a sharp intake of breath. Her hands clutched tightly around her paddle, and she froze, even as the gentle current carried her closer to the alligator.
Fabienne paddled gently forward, barely touching the water, angling toward the bank.
“Stay over this side,” she called softly. “They’re used to the tourist air boats feeding them, but they don't usually bother kayakers.”
Jake pulled his kayak up next to Naomi. Her eyes were wide with fear, fixed on the approaching alligator. She was breathing fast.
“It’s OK,” he said. “It’s just curious.”
The alligator swam closer and bumped against Naomi’s kayak. She let out a small cry.
Then she made a break for it, paddling frantically for the closest island, her eyes fixed on the safe haven of the shore.
“Stop!” Jake reached for her kayak, his fingertips brushing the side, failing to get a hold of her.
The splashing drew the creature on, each stroke of its tail pushing it closer to her. Jake saw the full length of it as the weed parted, eight feet of powerful muscle with jaws that could rip a man in two. It could easily reach Naomi if it chose to, but it was still just curious. Orange plastic was not prey, but if the tasty flesh inside were to come close to its jaws …
Jake couldn't wait any longer. He splashed the surface with his paddle, banging it down, moving it through the water in the likeness of a dying animal.
The alligator slowed and changed direction, slipping through the water back toward him.
Naomi reached the shore, making panicked noises as she tried to get out of the kayak.
“Stay inside,” Fabienne shouted, paddling toward her. “The gators are fast on land, not just in the water.”
Naomi didn’t hear the words. Her eyes were huge, wide with the fixed stare of terror. Jake knew it well – narrowing vision, sound as if underwater, shallow breathing, the pounding of a fast heartbeat. The sense of near collapse. Naomi could not hear Fabienne’s warnings. She was trapped in her own nightmare.
He banged his paddle down again.
Naomi put a hand out onto the bank to steady herself, but she found only swampland beneath. She tipped out into the shallows, splashing in the water, covered in stinking weed as she frantically tried to pull herself out onto the land.
The sound of her struggles drew the alligator’s attention. It swerved away from Jake back to the shoreline, this time thrashing its tail and covering the distance incredibly fast.
Fabienne paddled swiftly toward the bank as the alligator crawled out of the water, its short legs hefting its huge body forward as its head swiveled to fix on its prey. Teeth poked out from powerful jaws, yellow with age, thick and sharp. Its tail thrashed from side to side as it stalked forward.
Naomi backed away, never taking her eyes from it, her fingers reaching behind her until she came up against a cypress tree.
The alligator closed in.
Fabienne paddled to the bank and pulled a chicken wing from her cooler bag. She threw it in front and to the side of the beast, the smell of meat turning its head away from Naomi. It snapped up the carcass.
Fabienne threw another chicken wing. “Over here, you big bully.”
This time the meat landed in the shallows. The alligator turned its body to face the easy meal and snapped up the next morsel.
Naomi inched around the opposite side of the tree, moving almost imperceptibly. Fabienne kept throwing the wings as she paddled slowly backwards, drawing the alligator back into the water.
“Help her with the kayak,” she called to Jake. “Meet me on the other side of this island. I'll draw him away. Guess we’ll have to eat something else at Grandma’s.”
As Fabienne disappeared around the corner of the channel, a chicken-laden Pied Piper of the bayou, Jake paddled over to the shoreline.
Now the alligator was out of sight, Naomi sank down to the ground, her head in her hands. Her clothes were soaked with swamp water and dotted with duckweed.
“I’m so sorry.” Her voice cracked with tears. “I don’t know what I was doing.”
“It’s OK, I know those things can be terrifying. Remind me to tell you about the crocs I encountered in the Tugela River in KwaZulu-Natal sometime.” Jake held her kayak with a firm hand. “Now get back in, and let’s go find Albertine and get you into some dry clothes.”
Naomi eased herself back into the kayak and together they paddled around the side of the island in the opposite direction to Fabienne. As the minutes passed, Jake wondered if they would be left alone to fend for themselves for the night – but then they heard the soft dip of a paddle in the water.
Fabienne emerged from the side of the island. “Right, let’s hurry now, before he finishes that batch of chicken.”
She led the way further into the depths of the bayou.
It wasn’t long before they rounded a bend and the waterway opened up into a creek. A ramshackle wooden hut sat on stilts over the water, its timbers speckled green with lichen. Albertine sat on the deck smoking a cigarette, looking out to the shadows. A flock of tiny birds darted above and around her, picking insects from the air even as the atmosphere thickened with approaching rain.
The old woman raised a hand at their approach, no trace of surprise on her face. She had known they would come. She nodded at Jake as if everything were proceeding exactly as planned, as if everything moved with the surety of the slow-moving waters of the bayou. Their two rivers would meet and merge for a time, then separate again. He wondered what else she knew.
They paddled the kayaks to the water’s edge and tied them to a jetty of weathered wooden planks covered in slippery algae. Fabienne helped Naomi out.
“You can change into dry clothes in the hut. It’s better on the inside. Come on, I’ll show you.”
The two women walked off to the hut, while Jake pulled the kayaks further up the bank. He walked over to Albertine and sat next to her on the deck. Neither spoke as the sounds of the bayou washed over them – the croak of bullfrogs, the call of night-birds, the rustle of hunted creatures in the reeds beneath.
Albertine took another drag of her cigarette, exhaling smoke into the air around them. “I knew you’d come. A white man took the bones from Africa, and a white man must now pay the price. That’s how the story goes. When the ground shifted at St Louis, and the bone chamber revealed, I knew it was finally time.” She looked down at Jake. “Then you came.”
Fabienne stepped out from the hut, shaking her head in frustration at the words. “Grandma, you know how I feel about those myths. They hold our community back. Keep us stuck in the old ways.”
Albertine smiled, her old face full of love as she looked at her granddaughter.
“They’re not myths, child. The bones are real, our faith is real, and the loa say that the time is now upon us.”
Naomi came outside wearing dry clothes and joined them on the deck. Jake was relieved to see her looking much happier now they were off the water. Her eyes were bright and inquisitive as she sat down next to Albertine.
“What do you know about the bone chamber?”
Albertine shrugged. “I’ve never seen it, but the Hand of Ezekiel was split between the nations, not buried in that tomb. There are five fingers, each needed to complete the relic. And I know they weren’t all down there.” She gave a mischievous smile. “Because we have one.”
Jake thought of the picture Morgan had sent from Spain, the finger bone from the Toledo reliquary. Could there really be five of them? And if so, was the second one within reach?
Albertine continued. “The secret of the relic has been kept in the voodoo community since the time of Marie Laveau. The priest Père Antoine gave it to her to hide from those in the Catholic Church who wished to use its power once more. His Brotherhood had been infiltrated, so he told her to hide i
t until the time came when the bone chamber revealed itself.”
She reached down and gripped Jake’s shoulder. Her touch was light, but he could feel a wiry strength in her, and more than that, a sense that she knew of what he had been through because she too had seen beyond the human realm.
“But first, cher, you must prove yourself worthy.”
“How?” Jake asked.
Albertine was silent as she took another drag on her cigarette and blew the smoke into the heavy air.
“The relic belongs to the one who rises from the dead.”
Jake raised an eyebrow, the corkscrew scar twisting away. “That’s a tall order.”
Albertine cackled with laughter. “It’s a ritual, and if you survive, the relic is yours.” She pointed at a shovel that lay against the side of the hut. “First, you must dig your own grave.”
15
Albertine’s words hung in the air like the breath of nightshade. Jake considered them as he looked at the shovel and beyond to a patch of more level ground higher on the bank.
“That’s crazy,” Naomi said. “Why would he dig his own grave?”
Albertine shrugged. “It’s a choice. We can have some dinner, enjoy the peace. You can sleep here and go in the morning.” She looked at Jake. “Without the relic. Or you can endure the ritual and – if you survive – leave with the finger bone.”
Jake stood up. The timbers of the deck creaked as he walked to the shovel, hefted its weight in his hand.
He walked up the bank and began to dig. The ground had been softened by rain, and as Jake thrust the blade into the fertile earth, he cut through worms in the dirt, slicing them into pieces, leaving their wriggling bodies behind. He shoveled the soil to one side then swung again.
Naomi came up to join him, her arms wrapped around herself for comfort, a barrier against the encroaching dark.
“Are you really going through with this ritual? We don’t even know what it is. She might not even have the relic.”
Her jaw was tight, a deep frown between her brows.
Jake kept digging. “I believe Albertine has it, and this is her price. You’re a researcher. Don’t you want to know what might happen? After all, few outsiders ever see a real voodoo rite.”
Jake had heard of ritual resurrection ceremonies back in South Africa. Some of those who entered never made it through to the other side, but those who did, came back transformed. He had always lived on the boundary of the supernatural and perhaps he strayed too far over that edge sometimes. But he craved the moments beyond the veil.
And he wanted that relic.
A slow drumbeat came from the deck. Albertine stood over the water, her back straight, as she thumped the drum with a soulful rhythm. The deep tone echoed across the bayou, traveling across the dark water.
“She’s calling to others.” Naomi shivered. “I’m worried, Jake. What if this goes wrong?”
He reached out a hand to take hers. “You’d better pull me out of this grave if it looks like I’m actually dying.” He grinned. “But seriously, this is a ritual, not a murder. The point is to emerge on the other side.”
As Jake squeezed her hand, Naomi heard the confidence in his words, an edge of anticipation, the almost visceral need that he had to go through this ritual. But she couldn’t help the dread that rose up at the thought of what could happen.
Her mama had told stories of what slaves had gone through in the days when white men ruled them with whips and chains and fire. Voodoo was born from the blood of those ripped from their home to die here in a foreign land, and Jake could never understand that, even with his African heritage.
But he was an experienced ARKANE agent, and Naomi had heard stories of what he had faced on other missions – demons from hell, mythical creatures, artifacts of great power. Surely he knew what he was doing?
“It’ll be fine, I promise.” Jake dropped her hand and returned to digging.
Naomi stood watching him for a moment, the muscles in his back straining as he lifted the heavy earth. She was still ashamed by what had happened in the bayou, and perhaps the residual fear made her worry more than she should. The jaws of the alligator had come so close, and she could almost feel its jagged teeth biting into her flesh with crushing pain. Naomi pushed the thought away. Sometimes her imagination was a liability, and if she was going to make it as a field agent, she needed to put aside the stories of her childhood. Jake was the senior agent on this case, and she had to trust that he would get them through this.
The door of the hut creaked, and Naomi turned at the sound. Fabienne walked out, her arms laden with firewood. Her shoulders were still stiff, and there was a petulant set to her mouth, but she seemed resigned to her grandmother’s plan. She set the logs down and began to build a fire in a pit surrounded by stones a few meters away. Naomi went to help her, turning away from Jake, leaving him to his own thoughts.
Jake continued to dig, making sure the grave was long and wide enough for his frame, while still shallow enough to get out of. He was sweating with the effort, but he still felt a chill. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and his heart beat out of time. His breath caught in his throat and panic rose as he finished the grave.
What in hell was he thinking? This was crazy.
Jake looked up at the stars, bright in the night sky above now they were away from the city. The smell of wood smoke filled the air, drifting through the bayou. Bullfrogs croaked, and the slow beat of Albertine’s drum marked the passing of time, counting down the minutes until he would lie in the cool earth. Jake took a deep breath, inhaling slowly and then exhaling for a count of four.
He thought of Morgan, half a world away in Spain, wished she was here with him. He smiled as he considered that she would probably want to be the one in the grave experiencing the edge of the unknown. But he would have made sure she came back.
Jake looked over at Naomi by the fire. She was a good agent in many ways, but this mission was turning into way more than she could handle. They had grown closer in New York, and she had emerged a lot stronger after that mission, but she had little experience in the field. He looked down at the grave. There was no going back now. He had to take his chances.
The drumbeat changed as lights appeared on the bayou, lanterns on the front of kayaks moving through the waterways as the voodoo community arrived for the ritual. The sound of paddles dipping into water joined the drum, then the first notes of a song filled the air. A slave hymn from the Deep South. A song of pain and suffering, of a people beaten down and yet still they would rise.
Jake closed his eyes. The music stirred something within him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. His skin was not black, but he was proudly African, and he felt the pulse of the old country in the refrain, a stirring of home. Jake straddled both worlds, and if he were to die here tonight, his body would be part of this ancient place and lie alongside these people.
Not such a bad way to go.
The new arrivals pulled their kayaks high up on the banks as the drumbeat picked up its pace, songs blending together as more people arrived, joining their voices to the chorus.
They gathered around the fire, flames flickering over their features. Jake noticed people of all kinds amongst them. Old and wrinkled, wise beyond years. Young and beautiful, ready for the heightened experience of the loa possession. A Creole woman looked over and met his gaze. She had unusual sapphire eyes, and the firelight glinted off brilliant blue beads in her hair, her sculptured features like a goddess from another age.
Albertine gave the drum to an older man by the fire, and he continued with the rhythmic beat. She shuffled over to Jake and offered him a glass bottle filled with a brown liquid.
“Drink. The loa come when your guard is down. This will help.”
Jake took the bottle from her. There was no label, no indication of what was inside. It smelled of something herbal and a hint of fallen leaves, the edge of seasons turning, that moment when summer fades and decay sets in.
&nbs
p; He lifted it to his lips and drank deep. The liquid burned on the way down with the fire of spirit and snaked its way into his blood. The rush of alcohol made his head spin, and as Jake gazed into the fire beyond, he saw misshapen figures dancing there, twitching to the beat of the drum.
Albertine followed his gaze and nodded. “For some, the ritual is life-giving. For others it is poison, and there is no cure.” She reached for his hand. “You must go willingly to the grave. Do you accept?”
Jake took another swig from the bottle, allowing the sensation of floating to ease through his body. He rarely ever let go like this, preferring to stay in control, always watching for threat, always ready to fight. But he saw something he desperately wanted in Albertine’s eyes. An acceptance of this dual world. An understanding that good and evil were married together, each a different form of truth.
“I accept.”
Albertine smiled. “Then we begin.”
She signaled to the man playing the drum, and he shifted the beat, using both hands to create a rhythm that sliced through the night, calling out over dark waters to that which lay curled beneath.
Albertine etched veve, voodoo designs, on the earth that would act as a beacon for the loa. She poured out some of the liquid from the bottle onto the ground, chanting as the drum beat faster.
Jake's heart throbbed in time, the deep resonance vibrating through him down into the earth.
Fat raindrops fell as the storm broke overhead. Jake looked up to see a vortex of dark cloud whirling above and in the shadows, he saw silhouettes of huge wings. He blinked, and they were gone, leaving only the rain. It washed over him, soaking through his clothes, turning the earth to mud at his feet.
Albertine began to dance, other women joining her as they chanted and called for the loa to descend. With one foot firmly rooted to the earth, the old woman turned around, shaking arms held to the sky. The rain poured down, soaking her, but still she whirled, calling to the spirits in guttural tones that seemed to come from the depths of her soul.