Читать книгу The Curse of Bloodstone - V. J. Banis - Страница 7

CHAPTER FOUR

The merciless winds continued to whistle and moan, lashing out at everything in their path. Bloodstone stood strong and unbending against the fury of the storm. Yet inside the huge old house there was an eerie calm, like in the eye of a hurricane. Nothing moved, no sound echoed throughout the still rooms and corridors.

Vanessa lay on her wide bed. A smile played lightly on her lips. Her dream was beginning. She was with him and she was happy again. But her smile faded when she saw his eyes grow cold. He mouthed the same words and left her standing high on a cliff overlooking the sea. Below her she saw his ship making ready. Its blood-red sails were hoisted. The captain took his place on the deck; the anchor was raised.

The massive ship moved slowly out toward the distant horizon. A storm was brewing, but the captain didn’t seem to care. He nosed his ship, directly into its threatening force. Vanessa watched as the ship grew smaller and smaller. She began to cry, leaning into the wind, trying to catch a last, lingering glimpse of him. The storm grew wilder. Something tugged at her and then without knowing how, she found herself falling down into the icy-cold waters far below.

A scream caught in her throat and she sat bolt upright in the bed. She sat there for several minutes before opening her eyes. When at last she did open them, she felt disappointment. She had hoped that being at Bloodstone would make her dream a reality, but the room was cold and empty and he was gone...gone back to the sea he loved more than her. Why had he spurned her and returned to the sea without her? She knew well the old prophecy that was scrawled so eloquently in the Bible downstairs. She knew it by heart.

“Bloodstone, bloodstone, out of the sea,

Only with that can true love be.

Justice will fall with bloodstone bright

When light will be dark and days will be night;

When life will be death and death will be life,

Then, vengeance will rest with bloodstone and wife.”

She had found the bloodstone on his hand. He’d come from the sea. It was all so perfect. Why, then, didn’t she get the true love promised her?

Tutrice, of course, scoffed at the prophecy. Tough Tutrice scoffed at everything, Vanessa reminded herself.

Vanessa threw off the covers and got out of her bed. In the light of the dwindling fire she watched her reflection in the shuttered windowpanes. A sudden far and indistinct noise came from somewhere inside Bloodstone. Something fell and crashed to the floor below her. She snatched up her night robe and went to investigate.

The stairs were cold and drafty. A sliver of light shone through the doorway under the staircase, the door through which Tutrice had disappeared earlier.

“Tutrice,” Vanessa called softly.

No one answered.

“Tutrice,” she called again, walking toward the door. She pushed it open. The door opened onto a large, empty room. A single light burned on a lone table. Vanessa went across the room and opened a door she knew led into the kitchen and pantry area.

Tutrice was sitting at a long, oval table that took up the entire center of the kitchen. The light from the fire played on her wrinkled face, making her look not unlike some ghostly specter. She was huddled over some objects scattered on the tabletop before her. The old woman’s eyes were closed, her hands clasped as though in prayer. On the floor beside her Vanessa saw the shattered fragments of a large earthenware bowl. Whatever the bowl had contained was spilled all over the tiles. At first glance Vanessa thought it to be blood.

“What are you doing?” Vanessa demanded.

Tutrice did not move. She sat with her head lowered. Her lips moved but she did not speak. Finally she opened her eyes and continued to look down at the tabletop, studying the objects scattered before her.

“I conjure you,” Tutrice moaned. “I conjure you that you forthwith appear. Show yourself, oh dark and mighty master. Show yourself before me in fair and human shape without deformity or ugliness so I will not be afraid. Show yourself. Show yourself now.”

“Stop it,” Vanessa said, stamping her foot. “Stop it, I say.”

But Tutrice stayed as she was. “I conjure you by him to whom all creatures are obedient,” she moaned. “The elements have been spilled. The mortal mantle has been broken so that you may come through to me.”

“Tutrice! I forbid this nonsense.”

Still, Tutrice remained in her trance. “The sea runs back, the fire grows higher, the earth trembles in anticipation of you. Come. Come you in the name of Adonaiu Zabaoth, Adonaij Amiorem.”

Vanessa’s rushed over to the table and with a wild move of her arm swept all of the objects from the table, flinging them in every direction. She grabbed Tutrice by the shoulders and shook her hard. “I’ve forbidden you to do this,” Vanessa shouted. “How dare you go against my orders.”

Tutrice merely sat, numb and unhearing. Gradually she roused herself, turned her head slowly. “Go to bed, child. Leave me to my work.”

“No. What are you doing? I demand to know.”

Tutrice shrugged indifferently. “I am merely looking for information,” she said.

“Information? What information?”

“About Clarissa. You know Clarissa?”

“Clarissa? Our cook? Of course I know her.”

“She is dead,” Tutrice said. “She is dead but is not at rest. I was asked to try to find out why she is not at rest.”

“I’ll have none of that black-magic nonsense in this house. I’ve told you before, Tutrice. I will not tell you again. I detest this foolishness.”

“You detest it because you are afraid of it.”

“I detest it because it is stupid. The dead are dead.”

Tutrice shook her head. “No,” she said. “The dead are never far away from us. They are always here. We have but to reach out and they will be with us again.”

“I will not have this mumbo-jumbo practiced here. I will not have it, Tutrice, and I will not warn you of it again. Now go to bed.”

To Vanessa’s amazement, Tutrice threw back her head and began to cackle. “To bed, to bed. Do you find comfort in your bed, my pet?”

Vanessa raised her hand to strike. Tutrice’s eyes bored into her and she froze with hand upraised. Tutrice was not smiling.

“Beware, child. Do not threaten. I know everything. I can only profit you if you will believe in me.”

Vanessa found herself trembling. “Sometimes you make me very angry, Tutrice.” Then without any warning she buried her face in her hands and began to sob without knowing why.

“There, there, child. Do not weep. I am an old and difficult woman. Like the zebra, I cannot change my stripes. I must do what I am meant to do. I only wanted to help Carl, not disobey you. I promised I would help the poor man.”

“Help Carl?” Vanessa sobbed, trying hard to stem her tears.

“He asked me to find Clarissa, his wife. He misses her and knows I have the power to communicate.” Tutrice took Vanessa’s hand. “I did not mean to hurt you by going against your wishes. I thought you were fast asleep and with him.”

Vanessa choked on a sob. She suddenly felt angry instead of sad. She glowered at the old Cajun woman. “Do you find pleasure in tormenting me with reminders of him?”

Tutrice shook her head. “Your moods change with the wind. I do not torment you without reason. You should not be afraid to speak his name or to let mention of him be made. Simply because your stars did not coincide does not mean you should be afraid. It was not meant to be because he was not the right one.”

Vanessa’s anger went as quickly as it had come. “Oh, Tutrice,” she sighed, letting her beloved’s face take form in her mind. “Why did it all end as it did? He was as the prophecy predicted. He was the bloodstone from the sea.”

“No, you are wrong. He was not the bloodstone from the sea. Something was not right or it would never have ended, or begun,” she said.

“But the prophecy in the Bible....”

“He was not the one to fulfill that prophecy. Oh, I too wished it had been so. I, more than you, wished this to come about, but it was not right. We must wait. But I do not think Bloodstone is where we are to wait.”

“Why do you hate this house so much?”

“Hate it?” She paused, as though weighing carefully what she intended to say. “I have tried to protect you from Bloodstone because you do not belong here. And I had hoped you would learn that before it was too late.”

“Of course I belong here.”

Tutrice merely shook her head. “Oh, well, you are here now and here you must stay, I suppose.”

“Yes, Tutrice, I must stay. I should never have left.”

Tutrice smiled at something that gave her a secret pleasure. “Ah, if only it had worked out differently. If only he had been the one, all this would be changed now and the Bible would read true.”

Vanessa knit her brows together. “Read true?”

“It is not what it seems. Things seldom are, you know.”

Without anger Vanessa said, “Do you never speak plainly? Why must you always make riddles? Can’t you tell me in straight, uncomplicated language the explanation of the prophecy? Please, Tutrice, tell me.”

“The prophecy, the prophecy,” Tutrice scoffed. “I wish it had never been written.” Suddenly her eyes widened and she cringed and clamped her hand over her mouth. She stared about her, cowering, as if expecting some unseen force to punish her for what she’d said.

Vanessa tried not to let herself get annoyed, for she knew how futile it was to try to get Tutrice to speak of the poetic prophecy in detail. But perhaps it was for the best that she did not dwell on the prophecy; it only made her think of him and the bloodstone, which made her unhappy.

“Well, if you won’t speak of the prophecy, then tell me of Clarissa. When did she die? Was she very old? In the five years I’ve been away, I remember her but slightly.”

“No, Clarissa was not old, just weary and ready.” Tutrice got up and started searching the room for the articles Vanessa had swept off the table. One by one she took them up and brought them back. “Clarissa is in that limbo world where she must wait.”

“Wait? For what?”

Tutrice shrugged as she placed the articles into a pattern. “When death touches you, you only stay dead for a while,” she explained. “Clarissa is in that temporary death. She will assume her proper place soon. Until then no contact can be made with her. She is dead, as we know death to be. But after her prescribed period of rest is ended, she will be able to communicate.”

“You always talk gibberish. I can never make head or tail of what you say.”

“It is because you do not hear rightly.”

Without realizing what she was saying—for it was as if someone else was speaking for her—Vanessa said, “Tell me the story of the bloodstone again.”

Tutrice laughed softly. “No, you are too old for such silly tales.”

“Please, Tutrice. I want to hear it again.”

“But I’ve told you the tale a thousand times.”

“Then make this the last time,” Vanessa pleaded. “Please, Tutrice. I don’t know why, but it suddenly seems very important to me to hear the story once more.” She knelt at the old woman’s side and put her head in Tutrice’s lap. “Tell me about the bloodstone.”

Tutrice stroked her hair, smoothing out the long, silky strands. “Very well,” she said, “if it is so important. But remember, it is a child’s story and you are no longer a child; you are too old for such things, so this will be the very last time.” Tutrice paused, formulating the childish tale in her head. She took in a deep breath and began.

“Long, long ago a handsome young sea captain sailed into a strange harbor,” she said. “He met with an old man of whom he asked directions as to where the captain might find a night’s lodging. The old man told him of an inn and the captain, to express his thanks, invited the old gentleman to come and drink a tankard of ale with him.

“The old man grew to like and trust the handsome young seaman and, confident that he would not regret his trust, confided that he had a beautiful daughter whom he’d kept sheltered from the world. He invited the sea captain to his home to dine.

“The captain accepted and that evening he was surprised to see the magnificent home in which the old man lived. Once inside, the captain met the young daughter. She fell instantly in love with him.

“The captain, being a man of the world, was more interested in the fabulous bloodstone the young maid wore on a chain about her neck. He couldn’t keep his eyes from it; the old man and the maid thought the young sea captain’s ardent interest was in the girl herself.

“The captain devised a plan to steal the wonderful gem. He succeeded in getting the old man intoxicated and while the old gentleman was in a stupor the scoundrel captain seduced the young maiden and robbed her of her jewel.”

“In the morning the maiden, mad with love, ran after her beloved captain. She raced to the harbor just as his ship was leaving port. Unable to be with him, she threw herself into the sea. The young captain, filled with guilt for what he’d done, leaped from his ship in order to save the girl’s life.

“He reached her in time; and when he looked into her eyes he knew that he could not live without the maiden’s love. He put the bloodstone back around the girl’s neck. But the bloodstone had an evil curse on it and the curse added weight to the stone. It was so heavy it pulled the maiden down into the depths of the sea.

“The captain tried to save her but she slipped from his grasp. Rather than face life without his beloved, the young man let himself drift down into the waters so that he might be united with his love in death.

“He found his beloved. The bloodstone lighted his path downward. When he touched her lifeless body a strange and wonderful thing happened. Their love for each other buoyed them up.

“The old man, standing on the shore, saw them rise from the sea and stand beside each other on board the departing ship. He shouted a curse that never again would the captain be permitted to set foot on dry land until both his daughter and the bloodstone were restored to him, but the man and the woman paid no attention to him. To this day, it is said, the old man searches in vain for his lost daughter and the magnificent bloodstone.”

Vanessa suddenly stirred and looked up into Tutrice’s face. “Is that the meaning of the poem in the Bible? Was my great-great grandfather that old man?”

Tutrice huffed. “No, of course not. I’ve told you a hundred times that the prophecy has nothing to do with my child’s story.”

Vanessa put her head back into the old woman’s lap. “I believe I’m that girl and that I lost my sea captain somehow and that I must find the bloodstone and him and return them both here to my father’s house.”

“You talk nonsense. Get off to bed, child and let me get back to my business with Clarissa.”

Vanessa got up and went toward the fire to warm herself. “I’ll find him one day,” she said, more to herself than to Tutrice. “And when I do I shall bring him here and we will be happy forever and forever.” She repeated the words of the poem:

“Bloodstone, bloodstone, out of the sea

Only with that can true love be.”

She frowned. “‘When life will be death and death will be life.’ What does that mean, Tutrice?”

Tutrice grunted. “Who knows. It was written a long, long time ago. No one knows what it means.”

Vanessa eyed her accusingly. “You know. Tell me.”

“Nonsense. I know nothing.”

“You know, Tutrice, ever since I can remember you have been with Bloodstone and me. You have never in all that time spoken to me about yourself or your own family...where they came from...who they were. Tell me about them.”

To Vanessa’s surprise, Tutrice began to laugh. “Never before have you wondered about old Tutrice. I am glad to see you are growing up and can now think of others rather than only yourself.” She continued to fool with the objects on the table. “And now I should tell you that in the morning you must go into the village and be about your father’s affairs. Won’t they be surprised!”

“And what have I to do there?”

“Talk to old Simon Caldwell. He will advise you, and if not Simon, then to Noah Bingham.”

“Advise me? Advise me about what?” Vanessa asked.

It was as though Tutrice hadn’t heard her. “The storm will blow out to sea now and we must begin our search again.”

“Searching again, for what?”

“For your young sea captain and for the bloodstone, of course.”

“Don’t tease me, Tutrice.”

The old woman laughed again and began ladling some horrid-looking substance into a bowl. Vanessa watched, this time with a great deal of interest. Tutrice carried the bowl over to the table and closed her eyes.

“I summon you, spirits of the dead,” Tutrice said in a loud voice, “and thee who rules the spirits of the dead, and he who guards the barriers of the stream of Lethe, and he who doles out magic spells and chants a conjuration to appease or compel the fluttering ghosts. Clarissa, hear me!”

Suddenly Tutrice smashed the bowl down on the floor.