Blood Roots

by Richie Tankersley Cusick

  “I know. That’s what I mean …”

  Olivia roused from the depths of sleep, her mind thick and sluggish. She wanted to wake up, but voices pulled her back again … down … down … into a strange wilderness of dreams …

  “I told you to stay away from her.” Jesse’s voice, tight and angry. “I know how you are, Skyler, and I don’t want her getting hurt.”

  “And I know it’s not just the lady’s honor you have at heart. I know you’ve been meeting her yourself. At night in the cemetery.”

  “So you’ve been following us? I would have thought that kind of childish behavior would be beneath even you—”

  “Oh, I have more important things to do than spend my nights spying on you. Let’s just say I had a … rendezvous there. I just happened to be … involved … in something when you two showed up, and I couldn’t very well reveal myself and still be a gentleman.”

  “Mathilde again? Or have you managed by now to service all the females in the slave quarters?”

  “Mathilde isn’t a challenge anymore. But this lady of yours …”

  “I told you to stay away from her.”

  “Then maybe I should tell Father about your … secrets.”

  “She and I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “And neither have she and I. Yet. But I have a feeling the lady’s resolve is weakening—and you know how persuasive I can be …”

  A soft moan enveloped her like a cloud.

  Olivia stirred and squinted into the darkness, trying to see the tall windows along the walls of her room.

  Dusk had slipped into nightfall, and the air was thick with shadows. A single candle had nearly burned itself out beside the bed. The sound came to her again … the moan … like the softest, softest breath … and with a start, she turned over on her pillow.

  Jesse was beside her, his eyes closed in sleep. He lay upon the covers, not beneath them like Olivia, and his hands were groping restlessly, as if trying to reach something that wasn’t there.

  Catching her breath, Olivia threw back the covers and started to get up. She didn’t remember falling asleep, or Jesse lying down beside her, and she had no idea how long they’d been here together, side by side.

  But then, as Jesse moaned yet another time, she studied his face and frowned. His features were distorted in quiet agony, and his pale, pale face was damp with sweat. Alarmed, she reached over and caught his hand, which was plucking at his shirt, and as she gently pulled it away, she felt something wet beneath his fingers.

  Even in the faintly flickering darkness, she could see the large stain there against the white.

  Could see the stain spreading even wider as she watched.

  “Jesse,” she mumbled. “Jesse, wake up.”

  She tried to shake him, but he seemed trapped in the throes of a nightmare that wouldn’t let him go. She laid one palm against his shirt and felt the oozing warmth, and with a cry, she jerked open his shirt and stared.

  There had been a bandage on his chest, but sometime during the course of sleep it had somehow worked itself off. The wound was large and gaping, bits of flesh ripped and torn, blood flowing, skin shredded. Olivia put a hand to her mouth and willed herself not to faint.

  “Jesse—” She grabbed his shoulders and shook him again, roughly. His head lolled back on the pillow, and his face convulsed in pain.

  My God … is he dying?

  Olivia didn’t know what to do. She knew she should go for help, but she wasn’t sure she could find her way back in the dark to where she’d hidden the boat. By the looks of Jesse’s face, she was afraid to go off and leave him alone for any length of time, and frantically she looked around the bare room for something she could use to stop the bleeding.

  Jesse roused for a split second, opened his eyes, looked right at her. She had the eerie feeling that he saw straight through her, yet saw nothing at all.

  “Jesse,” she tried again. “Jesse, you’ve got to wake up …”

  She wadded up part of the sheet and held it to his chest, trying to staunch the flow of blood. My God, Jesse, what kind of accident did you have? He tossed fitfully, and she laid her head against him.

  Time drifted. Olivia stayed at his side and held him, and Jesse slept.

  But still he moaned in the depths of a dream, and as Olivia’s eyes closed, exhausted, she dreamed, too.

  Guns.

  Guns and smoke and fire and fog—men shouting—men screaming—vague figures running through the mist—tattered flag falling—young men crying—

  Death …

  “Have you seen him?” And Skyler stumbling through the boiling, churning air, his face black and runny with blood, “Have you seen him? Have you seen my brother?”

  Moans and shrieks of pain and whispered prayers, don’t let him die, Lord, don’t let me die, Lord …

  “Have you seen him?” Skyler shouting, running, desperate and alone—“My brother—have you seen him!”

  And the limp form on the muddy ground, the earth sodden and stained with the blood of gentlemen, one familiar form sprawled there, impaled there, forgotten there in the name of the Noble Cause …

  “Jesse!” Skyler’s scream of sorrow, of pain, lifting him, holding him, cradling him in his arms. “Jesse, no! Jesse, don’t die, you can’t die!”

  Bayonet hole where his chest should be … eyes huge and dark and sorrowful … light fading … life flowing …

  “Jesse!”

  Olivia’s own scream awakened her. As she bolted upright in bed, she reached for the figure beside her, and her heart raced in terror.

  Beside her Jesse lay calm, his face like that of a sleeping child.

  Olivia sighed in relief. Easing back down, she rested her cheek against him once more and felt the icy coldness of his skin … the hot sting of her tears. She cried softly without knowing why, and her tears were as salty as his blood, as the sweat of his frantic nightmare.

  And what was your dream just now, Jesse—was it as horrible as mine?

  “It’s not a dream,” Jesse mumbled, and Olivia started, propping herself up on her elbow, peering anxiously into his face.

  His eyes were still closed.

  His breathing was deep and even.

  Yet she knew she had heard him speak.

  And she wondered when she would ever wake up …

  It was a dirty, squalid cabin.

  There were holes in the roof and in the floor and even in the chimney, and a cluster of half-naked dirty black children crawled over the porch and over the wet, muddy ground.

  The lady hesitated a moment, standing out on the pathway, looking anxiously toward the cabin door. Sweltering shadows hung deep inside the one smelly room, and when the beautiful black girl swirled out of them, the lady stepped back in fear and surprise.

  “Are you Mathilde?” she asked timidly.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “I hear …” The lady cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. “I hear you have … powers.”

  The girl watched her … studied her. A feline smile lifted the corners of her full, sensuous lips.

  “Come in.” She shrugged and led the way inside.

  The lady lifted her pure white skirts and stepped reluctantly over the threshold. There was a pot simmering on the coals of the fireplace, and the noxious smell made her dizzy and lightheaded.

  Mathilde leaned lazily against the wall and looked the lady up and down. The lady dropped her eyes and fumbled with the sash of her dress.

  “I need a favor,” she began, and Mathilde gave a short, harsh laugh.

  “What kind of favor?”

  “It involves Jesse,” the woman went on, “and Skyler—”

  “Ah, yes. The master’s brave sons.” She had a lilting voice and a heavy French accent. She shrugged her narrow shoulders and her dirty blouse drooped low over her breasts. “Yes, I know Jesse. And Skyler.” The girl chuckled. “Every female on and off the plantation knows Skyler.” Her look was direct. “But that should
n’t surprise you.”

  The lady blushed. She looked away for a moment, as if gathering nerve to continue.

  “Then you probably know they arrived back this afternoon. That Jesse’s badly wounded, and Skyler got special leave to bring him home.”

  “I know.”

  “I … I don’t really believe in magic,” the lady began, but before Mathilde could interrupt, she added quickly, “it’s only for Jesse’s sake. And Skyler’s.”

  “Of course,” Mathilde purred, her eyes widening with a strange glow.

  “The other slaves say you have a gift. That you can weave spells … change destinies. That you can influence matters of life and death.”

  “That depends.” Mathilde smiled languidly. “On the price.”

  “Anything. I’ll pay you anything you ask. Just save Jesse. Just keep both him and Skyler safe for me.”

  “Keep them safe for you!” Mathilde’s head fell forward, and her mocking laugh echoed through the cabin. “Keep them safe for you! Both of them, because you can’t make up your mind!”

  The lady’s face went pale. Her lip quivered, and her hands clenched tightly around the purse she was carrying.

  “Jesse doesn’t know me—he doesn’t know anyone, or where he is or even that he’s wounded. I don’t want him to die,” she pleaded. “I don’t want either of them to die. When they have to go back to the war again, I don’t want anything to ever happen to them—ever!”

  “Immortality.” Mathilde considered, shaking her head slowly. It’s a dangerous thing. You must be sure of what you’re asking. Once the magic is made …” She reached toward her waist, and for the first time the lady noticed the small leather drawstring pouch that hung there. “… it cannot be undone.” Mathilde patted the little bag, then lifted her chin, almost defiantly. “Not even by me.”

  “Anything,” the lady repeated again, more firmly this time. “I’ll pay you anything you ask. Just name your price.”

  “A position in the house would be very, very nice,” Mathilde cooed, “with a fine white mistress to take care of …” She chuckled softly as the lady looked back at her, horrified.

  “I … do you promise, then?” the lady stammered. “That you’ll use your magic?”

  Mathilde’s hand struck out quickly, sending the lady’s purse flying against the wall. Coins rolled across the floor, and bills fluttered up into the sticky air.

  “Keep your blood money. I’ll think about what you’ve asked. I’ll think about it, and you’ll have my answer tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow!” The lady’s voice rose, panicky. “Why do I have to wait until tomorrow?”

  Mathilde’s eyes narrowed. She leaned forward and her voice was like the hiss of a snake. “Tomorrow. In my time, in my way! Now, go!”

  The lady fled sobbing from the cabin and up the muddy path into the woods.

  “Don’t do it,” Jesse whispered, and Olivia lifted her head at once, gazing down into his troubled face.

  She was having the strangest dreams. She was awake, but somehow she could still see them, as if they were playing on and on in some separate, uncontrolled part of her mind. She shifted gently beside Jesse, trying to shake the dreams away.

  “Ssh,” she soothed him. “Everything’s all right. The bleeding’s stopped.”

  He stared at her, frowning slightly, his eyes dark mirrors of pain.

  “Don’t you understand?” he whispered to her again, and he tried to raise himself up, falling back with a quick intake of breath.

  “Don’t move,” Olivia said. “Don’t do anything but lie there. Just sleep. Just sleep.”

  “But don’t you understand …” Jesse murmured, his eyes closing, his lips barely moving. “Don’t you understand what’s happening …”

  How very strange …

  How very unreal … yet all too real …

  I see Skyler bolting upright in bed … black room sputtering softly with light … rough cabin walls trembling with thunder.

  Beyond the half-open door, a violent storm … beside him a woman sleeping, her face turned toward the wall. She doesn’t hear as he gets up and pulls on his clothes, as he stands silhouetted in the doorway for only a moment, as he goes outside and walks long, long in the rain …

  I see the house ahead, illuminated by flares of lightning, and Skyler squinting off into the churning darkness, spying something—a shadow—running fast across the yard. He calls out, but the storm drowns the sound of his voice, and he starts to run, following the figure deep into the gardens where I can’t see him anymore …

  And yet I can see the bed he’s just left, the woman rousing slowly from her sleep, I see now it’s Mathilde turning to the yellow glow of storm light, bewildered to find her lover gone …

  She dresses quickly and runs through the storm to the house, up the back stairs in the darkness, calling softly—Skyler, Skyler, where are you—looking lost and afraid on the rain-swept gallery …

  And something has happened, she is thinking, and I can hear her thoughts through the raging wind, as she bursts into the empty bedroom, as Yoly comes up behind her now, both of them crying out in fear and surprise—something has happened, everyone has gone—

  And the vacant bed, covers thrown back, overturned chair and something lying beside it—a letter, I see—crumpled and fallen from someone’s pocket, and Mathilde is lifting it up to the flickering candlelight, hands shaking violently, words on paper quivering in and out of focus—

  “She is a fine cook … but she has a jealous nature … fighting over a man … it will be trouble for everyone here … arranging for position with you there in Paris … soon as I can book passage … sure Jesse and Skyler will agree.

  And Mathilde’s lips moving, tears sliding down, face cold and hard as stone—

  And what is it, Yoly is shaking her, trying to see, what is it—

  Heart breaking, murmuring, no … no …

  What is that, Yoly screaming now, screaming after her as Mathilde runs back along the gallery, back into the dangerous night, where are you going—

  Hands twisting the pouch at her waist, twisting and tearing and digging deep, deep inside …

  You wanted magic, Mathilde sobbing … sobbing … yes, I will give you magic …

  “The storm,” Jesse groaned, and Olivia had to fight her way up this time, up, up from the cavernous chambers of sleep, and she didn’t want to wake up, she was getting tired of these fuzzy, unfulfilled snatches of sleep that made no sense yet seemed so familiar and so real. As she tried to open her eyes, the fleeting thought came to her that she had dreamed them all before, many times in her life, and had only just forgotten that she had—that they were so much more than twisted nightmares—that they were holding on to her and pulling her inside of them as if she somehow belonged there …

  “The storm,” Jesse said again, and he groped at his chest, but Olivia managed to catch his hand in time and hold it tightly in hers. “It happened that night. The night of the storm.”

  “Ssh … Jesse … you’re only dreaming, that’s all it is. Only a bad, bad, dream …”

  “I didn’t know where I was,” he whispered. “I ran and ran in the dark, and she found me and took me inside, and then he came—”

  “Jesse, stop.” Olivia was fully awake now, and she sat up beside him, clutching his restless hands. “Wake up. Wake up now.”

  “The storm was so loud, and the thunder, and we didn’t know anyone else was there, that we were being watched. Oh, God, I didn’t mean to—we didn’t mean to—”

  “Jesse!”

  “I didn’t know—how could I have known—”

  “Jesse, you’re going to hurt yourself. It’s only a dream—wake up!”

  Thoroughly alarmed, Olivia leaned over him, saw his eyes flutter open, saw his look of shock and confusion as he stared into her face.

  “Olivia …”

  “Yes. It’s me.”

  “What—”

  “You’re hurt, Jesse, hurt bad. You started
bleeding, and I stayed with you …” She gave him a tentative smile. She knew she was fully awake now, and yet his face, her own voice, were curiously hazy. “… like you stayed with me.”

  His dark eyes seemed bewildered. They swept slowly over the walls of the room, to the barely flickering candle, to Olivia’s hair spilling over his chest.

  “Jesse, what happened to you?” Olivia asked worriedly. “What did you do to yourself? You need to see a doctor—”

  “No,” he sighed. “It wouldn’t do any good.”

  “You don’t know that. If you’re not strong enough to go, I could go for you. You could tell me how to get to town, and I could bring someone back here. No one would have to know if you don’t want them to.”

  He sighed, then caught his breath in pain. Olivia thought she heard a peculiar rattle deep in his throat.

  “What can I do?” She pressed close to him, trying to warm him, to comfort him.

  “Close your eyes,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “Close your eyes.”

  She looked at him quizzically, then did as he asked. She could hear his labored breathing … easing slower … calmer … into sleep. She lowered her head onto his shoulder. She felt the pulse in his throat.

  “You know what’s happening,” he murmured, but his voice was barely a sigh, and she was slipping away from him again, against her will, fighting to stay awake, but slipping into the ebb and flow of this strange and irresistible sleep …

  Only this time she heard the thunder … the voices …

  She saw the fog and Mathilde and the narrow space on the cool, damp floor between the vaults …

  She saw the woman there and the men taking her … the flicker of shadows over naked skin and tangled bodies …

  And “don’t you know what’s happening,” Yoly crying again and again and again—“don’t you realize what you’ve done—”

  Olivia heard the moans … the screams …

  Ecstasy … terror …

  “Jesse,” she breathed, and she was asleep and awake, hovering somewhere in a vague, misty netherworld. She could feel Jesse’s body stretched out against her, the warmth of him where they touched, and as she rose up, she watched him sleeping, his arms peaceful at his sides, his shirt open and spread apart.