Greyborn Rising

by Derry Sandy

  Kat held the figure to her lips and whispered something inaudible. Then she placed the elephant carving upon the chest of the prostrate woman, right between her mountainous breasts. Kat then knelt close to the woman and spoke some words into her ear. The woman’s eyes shot open and she screamed as she attempted to sit upright. The tiny elephant carving however, had apparently taken on some of the weight of its living counterpart because the woman could not budge.

  She gasped for breath and attempted to move the carving from her chest. It was impossible, she pried at it with both hands yet it did not move an inch. The candle light of the room was reflected in a thousand beads of sweat that formed on the woman’s face. Her breath escaped in gasps and gooseflesh pimpled her arms and neck. Kamara was unsettled by the sight of the woman, struggling beneath what should have been an insignificant weight.

  Kat sat cross legged on the floor next to the woman and allowed the woman to squirm and writhe beneath the burden until she gave up.

  “A lifetime ago someone told me a story about a hermit witch-doctor whose best friend was a wild bull elephant known as ‘The Mountain that walks.’ The witch doctor had met this elephant while gathering herbs for his medicines. The elephant had fallen into a hunter’s forgotten pit snare and had been pierced through with bamboo stakes. The doctor removed the stakes from the beast’s body then, using his potions, nursed and fed the elephant back to health. The elephant regained its strength but was still trapped at the bottom of the hole. The hermit then slowly filled the pit with sand thus raising the bottom of the pit so that the elephant could eventually walk out. From that day on the elephant and the hermit were inseparable. When the hermit died, the elephant could not be consoled. The creature sat vigil by his master’s grave until it too died.

  “After the elephant died, another witch doctor carved the massive tusks into several items and sold them. In the end he was left with one oddly shaped piece of ivory that he carved into a small elephant. It is said that if you whispered the name of the Mountain to the carving, the spirit of the Mountain gradually fills the carving making it heavier and heavier by degrees as the essence of the mighty creature returns to sit vigil at his master’s grave. I have never tested the truth of this but so far it looks like the myth might hold water.” Kat spoke like a tenured history professor who did not really care if her students passed or failed the course.

  The trapped woman took a laborious rattling breath. Her gaze darted wildly around the room. Kamara focused on the tiny carving looking for signs that an elephant’s ghost might be returning to live in it, but the carving looked as innocuous as ever even as the woman’s breathing grew ever more strained. Kat continued speaking. “I want the name of the obeah man who lent you the power to raise the jumbies.”

  “I…I…I can’t give his name.” The woman spoke in a voice that was somewhere between a wail and a shriek.

  “Well then you will be crushed to death. Slowly,” Kat said matter-of-factly.

  “Please…don’t…let….” The woman’s voice trailed off in a wheeze. Kamara saw the woman’s eyes roll back into her head as she fell unconscious. Kat spoke again, “Mountain, your master is not here.”

  Kamara imagined she heard the faint trumpet of an elephant. The prone woman gasped awake and immediately swatted the elephant carving off her chest. She rolled over onto all fours and, not willing to squander the time it would take to rise to her feet, began crawling frantically toward the doorway. Kat’s arm shot out in a motion that Kamara’s eyes could not follow and caught the woman’s retreating ankle. The woman continued attempting to claw her way forward in raw fear.

  “Voss, bind her.”

  Voss stepped forward and pulled the woman’s arms behind her back, binding her with a bit of cord he found somewhere. He then did the same to her ankles. His movements were so deft that Kamara wondered how often he tied up struggling people. When the woman was bound he deposited her next to Kat who remained sitting cross-legged on the floor.

  “This little hovel is filled with many things like the elephant, things that hold nasty surprises. Some of them I have tested, others I would not try because no test subject deserved the potential results. I am, however, in an experimental mood tonight. Your stubbornness makes me feel like dipping into a bag of tricks, the contents of which make even me shiver.”

  Kamara had no doubt Kat meant what she said. The woman spoke in an unemotional, detached tone that lacked compassion. During her first year as a law student, Kamara’s class had a chance to sit on a live interview with a convicted serial killer, a psychopath who had butchered more than twelve people. He had spoken about his crime with a similar detachment that convinced listeners that his confession was true and that if he had to do it all over he wouldn’t change a thing. It appeared that the woman was also convinced by Kat’s words as she started sobbing.

  “I-I-really can’t.” She heaved between wails.

  Kat pondered a moment then spoke. “Tarik, bring me the jar of red powder on the top shelf, be careful not to drop it.”

  Tarik brought the large jar forward and Kat undid the metal lid. It popped and hissed as if it had been vacuum-sealed. Kat immediately screwed the lid back on the jar but the contents had already congealed into an amorphous black mass like a living pool of oil flecked with iridescent streaks of grey. The globular creature began thrashing against the sides of the glass, desperate to get out. The sight filled Kamara with revulsion. In her peripheral vision she saw Lisa make the sign of the cross. Voss cursed under his breath.

  “I want his name or I will pour the contents of this jar into your ear and make a note of what happens.”

  The woman’s eyes were wide with fright, but she held her tongue.

  “Voss, hold her in place,” Kat said. Kamara noted that Voss hesitated for a moment before stepping forward and she wondered if he was beginning to feel sorry for their captive just as she was. Nonetheless, he knelt next to the woman and pressed her shoulders to the floor. Kat moved forward with the jar. Kamara felt the increasing tension in the room. Rohan was silent, but his lips were pressed in a tight line. Lisa’s eyes were squeezed shut and her face turned away. Agrippa looked on, points of light reflected in his eyes.

  “Cassan Davilmar,” the woman blurted. “I got the power from Cassan Davilmar, but he is a middle man, not the source and I do not know who the source is.”

  “You are speaking the truth,” Kat said with certainty. “Tell me what you know about this Cassan.”

  The woman’s eyes flicked to the jar, with its malevolent, unnamed contents and she shuddered. “I woke up one morning and there was a letter for me, telling me that I was to go meet Cassan.”

  “And you always follow the instructions of mysterious letters?” Kat asked with exaggerated incredulity.

  “The letter was written on a piece of leather.” the woman said, pausing as if that was all the explanation that was necessary.

  “And you always follow the instructions of mysterious letters that are written on leather?” The sarcasm in Kat’s tone was more biting than before. Something about the nature of the letter had changed her mood for the worse.

  “Soucouyant, you know what sort of letter it was. Don’t pretend,” the woman said.

  “If you truly want me to extrapolate meanings from your hints, then perhaps I can come to my own conclusions, in which case you will be useless and we can just have you drink this jar of malice,” Kat said with a grin but with a look in her eyes that mirrored the rage of the bubbling contents of the jar, thrashing around in search of an exit.

  “The letter that came to me was writ on a man’s skin, and to answer your next question, I know it was a man’s skin because it was the skin off the face of some poor soul, complete with ears and eye holes.”

  “Written in a glyph?” Kat said.

  “Yes, the Unspoken language,” the woman replied.

  “I’m surprised that anyone in this generation of weekend wiccans even knows what it is, let alone can translat
e the black magic of the Unspoken’s glyphs,” Kat said with a thoughtful look on her face.

  “I was taught the required magiks by my grandmother.”

  “The nature of this communication did not unnerve you?”

  “To a necromancer, there is no message more urgent or important than one written on dead human flesh in the Unspoken tongue.”

  There was a pause, then Kat said, “The note instructed you to meet with Cassan Davilmar?”

  “When I performed the required magic, the face spoke the instructions that were written upon it.”

  “Well…?”

  “The face told me to go to the Kings and Commoners night club. Cassan met me there. The face also told me that I should eliminate you once I had seen Cassan.”

  Kamara knew about the Kings and Commoners. It was an exclusive nightclub in Cascade, the lines to get in usually stretched around the block. Though it was one building, Kings and Commoners was two clubs in one. There was a main floor usually flanked by people in lines waiting to get in. The second area was for private members or invited guests.

  “We should pay this Cassan a visit,” Voss growled.

  “You can try, but we met in the Kings section of the Kings and Commoners. It is impossible to enter unless accompanied by a member.”

  Kat chuckled, “We will figure something out. Did Cassan mention anything else, a name, did he let anything slip?”

  To Kamara’s surprise the woman looked thoughtful, as if she was genuinely searching her memory of the night for the answer.

  “One of the bodyguards muttered something while I was there, a name… he said…he said…”

  Kamara exhaled sharply in surprise as a freezing cold descended on the hut. The woman paused mid-sentence. Her breath crystallized into a visible mist and gooseflesh pimpled her exposed skin. The others in the room were also exhaling puffs of mist as if winter had suddenly come to the Caribbean. The woman on the floor whimpered, “Ah talk too much, he find me.”

  “It appears that he has,” Kat said.

  Everyone in the hut slowly backed away from the woman in anticipation of the strangeness that must follow the sudden, arctic cold. They did not have to wait long. The only light in the room was the candle and the shadows cast by the candle flickered and danced in response to the movements of the flame. The woman’s shadow however, displayed far more initiative as it assumed a life beyond the will of the candle-light, rose up, and attacked her.

  The shadow wrapped sooty black hands around the bound woman’s throat and began to throttle her. Kamara, Rohan, and the others in the room stared in frozen shock as the woman’s eyes bulged and she began to gag. To the woman’s credit, she raised a valiant effort, at least as valiant as she could whilst being bound hand and foot. Her heels drummed against the floor, her thick body twisted and heaved.

  Rohan was the first to react. He snatched the wooden bucket Voss had used to wash himself and hurled it at the shadow. The bucket passed right through the specter and clattered against the wall on the opposite side of the room.

  Voss moved toward the murderous shadow as if to grab it.

  “Are you insane?” Kat and Lisa hissed simultaneously. The intensity of their cries halted his progress towards the bizarre scene.

  Kat continued, “It is a manifestation of the power she borrowed. A booby trap meant to tie up a loose end. Its focus will be exclusive to her if no one interferes.”

  “So we’re just going to let it kill her?” Lisa asked, as the woman’s breathing petered out to a gurgle.

  “No,” Kat responded, and with that she uncorked the jar containing the angry, oily nightmare soup and flung the entire thing at the shadow.

  Unlike the bucket, the jar shattered on contact with the Shadow’s head. The broken pieces of the jar continued through the shadow, but the amorphous black mass clung on, expanded, and enveloped the shadow’s face like a snake attempting to swallow a meal that might in time prove to be too large.

  A violent struggle erupted. The shadow released the obeah woman and used its hands to pry the thing from the jar off its head. The thing in turn adhered to the shadow’s face so fiercely that Kamara suspected it was indeed quite hungry and considered living shadows a particularly rare delicacy.

  An eerie, keening wail erupted and Kamara did not know whether it was a wail of agony or triumph nor did she know which of the struggling anomalies was sounding it. The shadow fell to the floor with the Jar thing still clinging to its face. The matte black of the Shadow’s head was visible inside the stormy, translucence of the thing’s body, enveloped like a hapless shrimp inside the bell of a jellyfish. The Shadow continued to try to pry its attacker off, but it was a fruitless struggle and soon the Shadow’s arms went limp and the wailing stopped.

  Something even more disturbing began to happen. The shadow, once the silhouette of the bosomy obeah woman, began to emaciate, growing thinner and thinner until it looked as if it had been cast by a desiccated cadaver. The blob then detached itself, and lay on the floor, its once stormy surface now looking like a dark lake, reflecting clouds passing slowly in a night sky above. It did not appear any larger as a result of its feast, but Kamara interpreted a decidedly satiated aura from the way it lay peacefully.

  “Pick it up, Kamara,” Kat commanded.

  Kamara jumped. “You’re kidding,” she responded in concert with Rohan, who took two steps toward Kat.

  “Trust me Kamara,” Kat said, ignoring Rohan’s angst.

  Kamara walked over to the fallen bucket and took it up. She intended to toe the shadow-eating mass into the bucket to spare herself from handling it directly.

  “No,” Kat said. “Pick it up with your bare hands.”

  “Are you insane?” Rohan said between clenched teeth glaring at Kat.

  “Have a little faith, Le Clerc.”

  Kamara’s breath caught in her chest, but she moved slowly toward the resting blob. She was forced to step over both the unconscious woman and the dead Shadow. As she stepped over the shadow the slight breeze of her passage caused it to dissolve into a pile of brittle black ash like that from a stack of burnt newspaper. Voss had a firm grip on Rohan’s arm. She sensed everyone in the room was holding their breath as she advanced.

  She bent over and picked up the jar’s contents. The thing was warm and pulsed at intervals as if it was breathing. She looked at Kat. “What is….”

  Before she could finish her question, the thing enveloped her hand suddenly just like it had done to the shadow’s head. Kamara shouted in surprise. A hot pain shot up her arm. She was barely aware of anything else in the room except the pain, but she saw Rohan break free of Voss’ grasp and charge toward her. Kat grabbed him by the back of his collar as he bounded past her.

  “Get it off me,” Kamara shouted.

  “What the hell is this, Kat,” Rohan bellowed as he struggled in the iron grip of the soucouyant who now held him in a bear hug to prevent him from going to Kamara’s aid.

  “Trust me,” Kat said.

  The sudden, sharp pain subsided gradually and was again replaced by a sensation as if she had stuck her hand in a vat of warm gelatin.

  “Hold your hand over the bucket,” Kat instructed.

  Kamara did as she was told. The black mass slid off and fell into the wooden bucket with a slosh. Kamara inspected her hand expecting to see burnt flesh. Instead, thirteen small elephants, each the size of a Trinidadian ten-cent coin marched a serpentine path from her middle knuckle to just above her wrist joint. Each elephant grasped the tail of the one ahead of it with its trunk. The images had a silvery black sheen, somewhat like the surface of the thing that had made the marks, and just like Rohan’s tattoos. She realized with shock that the elephants were Orderman’s markings.

  “You marked me for the Order?” Kamara asked.

  “You fight jumbies, don’t you” Kat stated as if that was a full answer.

  “You could have warned us first,” Rohan said as Kat released him and he rushed over to inspect K
amara’s markings. “The process could have killed her, and I have never seen anyone marked in that manner, by a…whatever that thing is.”

  “Sorry, I have been a hermit for too long and I forget my manners from time to time. Besides I had a gut feeling she would survive the process.” Kat smiled broadly. “Also, there are many things you have not seen in your short life Rohan Le Clerc, it does not mean they are necessarily bad.”

  “A gut feeling? You exposed her to a potentially fatal process based on a gut feeling?” Rohan was incredulous.

  “I have a very accurate gut.” The soucouyant smiled and shrugged.

  Kamara noticed she could now see the others in the hut a little more clearly. She could also hear better, as if her ears had been partially stopped up all her life and the stoppage had suddenly been cleared. She suddenly felt exhausted.

  “What are we going to do with those?” Lisa yawned, collectively motioning to the pile of ash left by the shadow and the still unconscious obeah woman who the group was still reluctant to approach.

  “I have a couple ideas. But she will not pose a problem,” Kat replied. “It is 2 a.m. My advice to you all is to go back to Stone and get some rest. I will come to you after sunset and we will decide how to proceed.”

  “Are you going to explain to us what just happened?” Lisa asked with another yawn.

  “Later perhaps,” Kat replied.

  On the way back to the car Kamara leaned heavily on Rohan, who would have carried her save the fact that he too was exhausted. Voss took the wheel and they all piled in. Kamara inspected her new tattoos. Rohan had told her that different marks conferred different gifts, and she wondered what powers hers would impart. She would ask Rohan what he thought later, or maybe Kat would explain when she came by. Kamara closed her eyes. She felt happy to be alive, but she was not sure she could cope with many more nights like this.