Every night, he would ungag me and feed me a little food, always leaving my hands bound and the rope around my waist. After two weeks, I was beginning to feel like I had no skin left in either place.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked, watching as he mixed together a stew that he’d made from a rabbit he caught earlier in the day.
“Are you ever going to ask me for specifics, or will you remain vague and without answers for the entire trip?” Smiling slyly at me, he turned his attention to his small fire and pot, our tiny bag of essentials on the ground beside him. It had been tied on another tree along the way, which he had retrieved himself.
Surprised, I thought over what he’d said. I hadn’t expected him to reply at all, especially since he’d ignored the question every night up to now.
“Why do you want the treasure that’s hidden here?” I asked, wondering if I’d phrased it the way he wanted.
“Closer,” he muttered, shaking a finger. “You can do better than that.”
Frowning, I stared, not sure what I was supposed to say. “Um . . .”
Thinking, I remembered him in the bottom of the Treasure Pit, furious because something was missing. The memory brought everything together for me and I sighed, knowing what to say. “What do you want that’s in the cache?”
“That’s a good question.” Chuckling, he leaned onto his elbows, staring at me like a wolf—a predator. “The answer is good, too. Do you really want to know?”
“Why would I ask otherwise?”
He smiled, obviously pleased that I was playing his game of reasoning with him. “Very good. I want the same thing I took from Oak Isle.”
“Ichor? But you already have it.” Confused, I watched as he paused to dish out some of the stew, sniffing it delicately. My stomach growled in response and he laughed, staring at me pointedly.
“Am I not feeding you enough?” He was putting on a friendly act for some reason, teasing me. “And yes, I already have the ichor. That’s not exactly what I’m after this time.” Slurping the hot food out of his bowl, he finished it quickly, getting himself another helping.
Puzzled, I watched him, waiting for him to explain it to me.
“Do you know what the Black Knights stand for?” he asked me, in an unexpected turn in the conversation.
“Murder?” I offered, rolling my eyes.
“Yes. Naturally.” He sipped his soup slower this time, savoring it for a few seconds after each taste. “Power, and greed—the ultimate control over the lives of those around them. What greater control is there than the ability to take someone’s life? To decide who will continue on and who will fall by the wayside? I’ll tell you—none.”
Appalled, I stared at him with my mouth open. “That’s absurd! Killing someone isn’t a show of strength, it’s a spectacle of weakness and contempt. To murder another human being is the worst thing you could do. You’ve ended a life, a person’s ability to choose what their existence will be. Only a coward would think murder was an acceptable path to dominance. There’s no one to stand against him, to prove whether or not he’s worthy of such titles and recognition. Would you want someone who tricked their way into position to be your ruler?”
“That is precisely my point. I would indeed want that person to be my ruler, because they have proven they are the smartest and most valuable through their plotting. This is how the gods became rulers; they took what they wanted and killed anyone who got in their way. You met Zeus—tell me, do you think his special jar was a just and kind present for a regular man who did nothing but better his own life by stealing fire? Was it appropriate that every evil thing be released on the world because of that?”
“Zeus is a god, though,” I argued. “There’s not anything you can do about gods. They do whatever they want.”
“Isn’t there?” He grinned, his expression practically begging me to figure it out.
“You want to drink the ichor out of the Holy Grail, so you’ll become immortal. That’s how you plan on fighting against the power of the gods?” As of yet, he’d never actually confirmed that was his plan. Holding my breath, I waited for him to answer, feeling my anger spike as he took another sip.
“God holds the supreme power—the decision of who lives and dies. In fact, every god does. The capability resides in their very blood. That is what I want; the power of all the gods. And I intend to take it by whatever means necessary.”
Staring at me pointedly, he fell silent, waiting.
Thinking, my mind a-jumble after everything he’d just said, I tried to put the pieces together. If he wanted the power of all the gods, he needed their blood, which was where the strength resided. Ichor was the blood of the gods, which he already had.
Wait, no. Ichor was the blood of the Greek gods. Which meant there was more blood he needed to gather.
“You want to replace all of them,” I breathed. “Absorb the abilities of each of them, until you become so strong that you’re the greatest being that exists. That’s why you need the Holy Grail to drink it from. That cup held the blood of Christ, the Christian God and Savior.”
The treasure we were going after wasn’t gold or weapons. Somewhere in the Superstitions, the blood of the Norse and Ancient American gods were waiting for him, locked away in a vault that he desperately wanted to get into. He’d planned everything from the destruction of his own ship and crew to my kidnapping in order to get there. If I could just figure out my part in it, I might be able to stop him before he got it.
“Very good, Samantha.” Filling the bowl again, he came over to me, holding it up for me to drink from. “I knew you would get it, given enough time.”
“What’s my part in it?” I asked as soon as I’d finished up my share, happy to not feel hungry.
He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Don’t ruin all the fun of the mystery,” he said lightly. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Two weeks later, I recognized the peaks of the Superstition Mountains ahead of us, their familiar shape both relaxing me and filling me with fear. Rain clouds stacked above it, the same storm that had nearly drowned us two days before having apparently decided to hover over our final destination. The brown and green of my desert home was beautiful and bleak—a reminder of days gone by.
The air was heavy and wet, filled with mosquitoes that landed on me every time I blinked. I was being eaten alive and had no way to soothe the horrible scratching their bites induced. The rope burns around my wrists had turned into raw, bleeding wounds, making me want to weep whenever I moved them even a millimeter.
Randall, on the other hand, seemed as happy as could be, whistling as he dragged me along behind, never slowing down or stopping to rest. “Today is the day,” he said to me cheerily, over his shoulder.
Inwardly gagging, I didn’t bother making any kind of sound in reply. My face was sore from the wrap being around it, and I preferred being quiet to listening to his crazy plans for world domination and godlike power.
“Now, Samantha. I know you’re excited to see your husband and friend again. You don’t need to act like you don’t care around me. I’m ready to see them, too. In fact, I’m pretty sure they’re right over that ridge up there. Mark was kind enough to stop by our camp last night while you were asleep. He didn’t want to wake us, though, so he left without saying anything. I imagine he’s planned a very exciting reunion for all of us with Tristan.”
His words made me stumble, causing me to fall to the ground and cut my knee on a jagged rock. Panicked, I struggled to my feet, staring at him with wide eyes as he watched me, amused by my clumsiness.
“Here, let me help you,” he said, grabbing my arm and yanking me upward. In a flash, his gun was pressed to my temple, his arm tight around my waist. “You’re not going to move, are you?”
It sounded more like a threat than a question and I shook my head, too tired to fight back. His beard tickled my face, his breath warm on my skin as his eyes glanced around, a calculating look to them.
&nbs
p; “Show yourself or she’s dead!” he yelled, standing his ground. After a few seconds, he smiled and I assumed that the men had appeared on the ridge, just as he’d suspected. “Wonderful. Come down, with your hands in the air.”
Their footsteps soon reached my ears and I almost cried from relief, I was so happy to know they were near, despite the circumstances.
“Let her go,” Tristan called, apparently still keeping his distance as much as he could. “Ye’re already here. What else could she tell ye?”
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with, Randall,” Mark added. “Let her go and maybe we can work something out.”
“You mean with the Indians you’ve got hidden up there, waiting for us?”
The stillness weighed heavily on me after he spoke, and a sort of despair settled over my heart. How were we ever going to get the upper hand on him if he somehow figured everything out before we did it?
“Don’t look so surprised,” he continued, grinning. “You lived with the Apache for two years, Snake Eyes. I haven’t seen a single one since I set foot on their land. Of course, you would ask them for help. It’s only natural. However, now I’m going to need you to ask them where the treasure is. I’d be quick about it, too, if I were you.”
I was a bargaining chip, I realized. The only thing that kept anyone from killing him was the fact that I was tied to him with my life hanging in the balance.
“They don’t know,” Mark replied quickly. “But they’ve agreed to let you search for it if you hand her over to us.”
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Randall snarled.
Suddenly, an arrow shot through the air, landing in the ground at our feet, my cry of shock muted by the gag in my mouth. Faster than I could blink, the gun against my head cocked, pressing harder against me.
“Don’t think I won’t do it.” As if to emphasize how serious the situation was, lightning flashed in the sky above, the thunder clapping so loud it made my eardrums feel like they were bursting.
Instantly, a voice I didn’t recognize called out in a different language.
“He says wait,” Mark called. “Will you meet for negotiations?”
Randall eyed whomever it was behind me, his heart beating a little faster as he held me close. The feeling gave me hope; maybe he was nervous and would slip up somewhere along the way. Giving a curt nod, he stepped forward, making sure I was still securely in his grasp. We walked a few feet and stopped, waiting for something.
The strange man spoke once more, spouting off a rapid string of strange words, which Mark quickly translated.
“I am Runs With Wolves. Our people and the gods forbid what you ask. It would be better for you if you left now and did not anger them further. Already, the mountain tells you to leave, spitting lightning out from inside.”
“I’m not leaving until I get what I came for. Show me where the treasure is and I’ll personally make sure you and your family are never bothered by the gods again.” It seemed like Randall was slipping, his voice jagged and rushed instead of the cool, manipulative style I’d become accustomed to. This was the Randall I’d seen in the bottom of the Treasure Pit, angry because the things he sought weren’t all there.
Mark relayed the message and waited for his friend to answer, the emotion between all of us heavy.
“You can not direct the gods,” Mark translated. “No man can. If you insist on knowing where the treasures lie, you must journey into the mountain, to the heart, where the lightning lives.”
Randall was shouting now. “Tell me where the entrance is!” Yanking me around, he faced the group, shoving the end of the gun under my chin, but not before I caught the murderous gleam in his eyes.
Mark acted like he was ready to reach out and grab me, his eyes angry and hands clenched into a fist. Beside him, an Apache man with half his face painted red stared at me blankly. There were feathers in his hair and a leather jacket hanging open on his bare chest. Tristan stood further away his body in a battle stance, teeth bared as he watched the conversation.
Mark said something in Apache to his friend, pleading. The two seemed to argue for a moment before Runs With Wolves threw his hands up in the air and turned. Raising one arm, he pointed at the mountain.
“The rock that looks like a man,” he spoke clearly, shaking his head.
“Thank you, my friend,” Mark replied sincerely, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Runs With Wolves added something in his native tongue once more and began walking away, motioning to the area around him. Slowly, other men slid out from behind rocks, following him as he departed.
“The rock that looks like a man?” Randall asked, still bristling.
“He pointed right at it,” Mark explained, gesturing to the mountain. I’ve been there before. He says the entrance is supposed to be in the canyon behind it.”
“Take me,” Randall ordered, pulling my head back slightly and snarling at him. “Now.”
Hiking up the mountain was brutal. Randall refused to let me go, which was smart on his behalf, but incredibly painful on mine. We couldn’t go more than three steps without Tristan threatening to rip his bowels out because of the whimpers I made. I’d never felt so helpless in all my life.
“This is it,” Mark said, yelling over the wind that was picking up. “The rock that looks like a man!”
Glancing up, I could see that the storm was really getting started, lightning flashing overhead as rain began to sprinkle down on us. The stone we’d stopped at didn’t really look like anything to me, but I supposed the image was in the eye of the beholder. As far as I was concerned, it was a big brown blob of nothing.
The canyon just beyond it was small, more of a crevice in the rocks than an actual canyon. Palo Verde trees covered it, as well as prickly pear cactus, both of which were the beautiful green the desert acquired when it received rain. If I’d come at any other time, I would have thought it was a nice place to stop and take a break or have a picnic.
However, we weren’t exactly having a pleasant day trip.
“Now let her go!” Tristan yelled, stepping close to us and grabbing one of my shoulders.
“Back off,” Randall snarled, jerking me away. “I’m not done with her yet.”
Moving the gun to my temple, he glanced between the two of them. “Snake Eyes, you did what you had to do,” Randall said, somewhat calm. “I can respect that. If you’ll join me now, I’ll forget all about your mutiny. We can split the treasure down the middle and make a run for it.”
“Why?” Mark asked, completely thrown off by the offer. “There’s not even anything here! Look around you, Randall; this is a dead end.”
“I like you, Snake Eyes,” Randall said, backing up slightly as Tristan loomed over him. “I think you should get what you want. Of course, what you really want is Samantha, isn’t it—all for yourself, to love and cherish for the rest of your life? All it takes is a small fee to me and she can be yours.”
Mark stared at him like he was crazy, flinching as another round of thunder clapped overhead, the rain gaining strength.
“Kill Tristan!” Randall screamed, all his patience suddenly gone. “The vault needs a blood sacrifice to be entered and it’s either her or him, your choice!”
Bucking wildly, I tried to get away, suddenly terrified that he might actually shoot me after threatening however many times over the course of this trek. As I scrambled, I could see the revelation hit the two men in front of me like a ton of bricks.
Someone here was going to die, and at this point, it was very likely me.
The two civilizations that had hidden this treasure believed in sacrifice. No one would be able to enter until there was blood on the ground—Randall would end me without a second’s hesitation.
Tristan was already lunging for me, terror in his eyes, the image of me seeming to reflect in his gaze, small and vulnerable. However, Mark was a fraction faster than him. Jumping forward, he grabbed Tristan by the hair and yanked him back, pulling a dagger o
ut of his belt.
The knife flashed in his hands, drawing across Tristan’s throat from behind, blood smearing across his neck as he fell to his knees, eyes bulging.
Mark had just killed my husband without a second thought.
Shoving him over the rest of the way, Mark glared at his victim, face down in the dirt. Chest heaving and eyes wide, the revelation of what he’d done seemed to slap him across the face and he staggered back as the storm broke overhead, dropping all the moisture it had in a ferocious torrent.
Screaming, my legs crumpled beneath me, the cut in my knee stinging as I hit the ground, not able to believe what had just happened. The gag in my mouth choked me, muffling the almost inhumane sounds I was making, looking at the body of my husband in front of me. Tears fell from my eyes faster than the sheets of rain, soaking us all clean through in seconds.
“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Mark was saying, his words coming to me like they were being beamed from a different planet. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Trembling, I looked up at him again, wishing I could strangle him with my glare. The sentiment appeared to share well enough and he took a step back, his own hands shaking.
“Come on,” Randall ordered, grabbing my arm and getting me on my feet. “There.” He nodded to the tiny canyon ahead of him. A small opening had appeared on the other end, a cave that disappeared into darkness. Shoving me forward, he marched me across the space and into the hole, Mark following close behind.
My heart felt like it was shattering.
I couldn’t breathe, not with the way I was crying. Each movement I took made me want to fall and perish right there, to stop the pain I was feeling. Every day, I’d lived with the fear that Tristan would die and I would have to go on without him. Nothing could have prepared me for it to happen like this, though. Not at the hand of Mark, my most trusted friend.
“Cut it out!” Randall hit me in the back of the head with his gun, pushing me even faster, my feet tangling beneath me. Stumbling to the ground, I made no move to get up. There was a light ahead, but I didn’t care. Everything I wanted was bleeding out on the ground outside.
Carried Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Two) Page 31
