A buzz sounded up from the people who had gathered to watch the spectacle. Fraya saw the chief coming down the street, a procession of naked women and men leading, and a long line of priests with painted faces and bodies following. Some of the priests started testing their bows, feeling its stretch and lifting arrows to practice their aim. Fraya had no illusion about the way she was about to die. That part of history she knew. It would be painful and slow. She would be pierced, over and over again, but the priests would be careful not to puncture her heart or any vital organs, and she would be left to suffer in prolonged agony. Only when she was close to her very last breath, would the high priest take his dagger and cut open her chest to remove her throbbing heart. The heart would be placed in the mouth of the rock statue that stood to the side of the cross, and only then would the ceremony be over. And even before all of that began, she would be raped by the gang of naked men who had volunteered for the part, the ones who were dancing in front of the chief, and who had reached the bottom of the steps at that very moment.
Jonas stepped up to her, blocking her view. “It’s about to begin.” He lifted the pouch he had showed her in the hut once more. “This will dull the pain. Take it now, or it will be too late.”
Fraya shuddered. She craned her neck around Jonas to see the procession coming to a standstill at the bottom of the steps. The crowd fell silent. The chief lifted his scepter and the high priest stepped forward. Feeling her courage fail her, she nodded at Jonas.
“I’ll drink it.”
He held the potion to her lips, lifting her chin to help her swallow. The bitter taste lingered on her tongue. The chief shouted something and the crowd rejoiced. When they were silent once more, Jonas turned to Andrews.
“Our chief thanks you for the gift you brought. The proceeding is about to begin.” Jonas pointed at the line of naked waiting men. “Our chief will be honored if you’ll join the ritual to appease the goddess of fertility, to bless us with healthy children.”
Andrews turned to face the chief. “Not so fast. Where is my gold?”
“You will have your gold,” Jonas said, “when the sacrifice has been made.”
“Your chief agreed to give me my gold when the sacrifice has been secured.” Andrew motioned at Fraya. “I’d say she’s secure. Now, give me my gold,” his hand went to the back of his trousers, lifting a pistol and aiming it slowly at Fraya, “or you won’t have a sacrifice.”
Fraya flinched. Her limbs started to feel heavy. She wanted to scream but she couldn’t move, not even open her mouth. Her mind was crystal clear, but her body seemed to have gone lame. Her arms and legs collapsed in their restraints, her torso sagging down. Only the ropes held her up. She noticed with frantic eyes that Jonas was watching her, nodding his approval. Whatever he had given her had made her helpless, unable to feel, leaving her mind free to experience the fear and dread.
The chief and the high priest exchanged a look. The chief gave some kind of signal with his scepter, and four men came down the path, carrying a wooden box between them. They left it by the chief’s feet, who started speaking, but Andrews interrupted him. “No. Bring it up here.”
The chief only shrugged, saying something to the men who picked up the crate and climbed the steps with much effort, bulging under the strain of their parcel.
“Put it here,” Andrews said, motioning with his free hand at the ground. His other hand remained steadily aimed at Fraya, the gun trained at her heart.
With the tip of his boot Andrews kicked the lid off to reveal a coffer filled to the brim with golden disks, jewels and gold dust pouches.
“You,” he said to Jonas, “tell your men to attach the box to these ropes.” He removed a thick coil of woven rope that was slipped through his belt and threw it at Jonas.
Instead of picking up the rope, Jonas removed a knife from the leather sheath on his belt and started to cut Fraya loose.
Andrews lifted the gun an inch higher. “I’ll shoot her right between the eyes.”
Jonas continued with his task, unfazed. “We’ll start with the ritual, nevertheless, as my father, the chief of this village, has instructed. I need to place her on the altar, and while our warriors are paying tribute to the goddess of fertility, my men will do as you asked.”
“Don’t move her,” Andrews warned. “First my gold, and then all of your warriors can rape her for all I care.”
Jonas looked at Andrews, his shoulders straight and his chin lifted. His head moved to his father, but the big chief shook his head and then Fraya’s eyes widened as she saw one of the priests had lifted his bow and secured an arrow. Andrews had his head turned to her, unaware of the man who was aiming at him. By now her arms and legs had been freed, and it was only Jonas’s grip that held her upright.
The sudden cry of a falcon cut through the air from somewhere very close to her. Fraya saw the bird dive and take up into the air again. Everything happened in picture scenes, like clips from a movie. The priest stretched back his bow. The falcon dipped once more, his cries an echo through the valley. The priest released his arrow. It ripped soundlessly through the air. As the poisoned tip and shaft sliced through Andrews’s skull, his finger tightened on the trigger and the shot went off, but his arm had been pulled up with the force of the blow, and the bullet went somewhere past Fraya’s head. The falcon took flight, frightened by the noise of the shot, circling the area above Fraya. Andrews’s body fell to the ground. Smit and Panagakos had appeared from somewhere, firing into the crowd, taking down two priests and a naked man before they, too, were felled by arrows. The falcon dove into the crowd, his call sharp shrieks that bounced against the cliffs and back. Pandemonium had broken out among the spectators. Falcons were considered spiritually powerful signs, and this one made another turn before he descended, and landed purposefully on Fraya’s arm, to Jonas’s bewilderment. People screamed, men and women falling to their knees, while the high priest yelled something to the archers, his tone furious. In the moment that Al had landed on her arm, Jonas had let go of her, letting her limp body fall to the ground. The chief was now addressing Jonas, his face a stone mask, and Fraya could do nothing but wonder how Al had found her and where he came from, igniting a small ray of hope inside of her. The high priest inched forward, giving what sounded like commands to the other priests and to Jonas. Fraya saw them pull back their arms, bending their elbows, arching their bows, and then she heard a familiar voice in her ear, and she knew that she was either dreaming, or dead.
“I’ve got you, baby,” the voice said.
Fraya heard his voice close to her ear, but she couldn’t turn her head or snap her fingers or pinch her skin to wake from her unreal vision. A pair of hands went around her waist, fastening a rope and a metal clip.
“We’re going to jump, Fraya. Don’t be scared. I won’t let go.”
Fraya realized that it wasn’t a dream after all. Emilio had moved from behind the stone cross like a flash, causing the men and women to gasp, and Jonas to jump. Fraya’s eyes widened as she saw the abyss and suddenly knew they were going to tumble over it. She was faintly aware of the swoosh of the arrows that flew over their heads seconds before their bodies dove over the edge, and they pummeled down, Fraya was sure, to their death.
Chapter Forty-Four
Fraya woke up to a pair of strong arms and a soft kiss on her lips. Her body ached everywhere. She moved into the caress, wanting to stay in the dream.
“Wake up, baby,” a voice whispered, caressing her brow.
“Emilio,” she sighed.
“I’m right here.”
Fraya opened her eyes slowly. She lay in Emilio’s arms, in his bed.
“Olivia?” she said as her mind surfaced back to full reason, her voice alarmed.
“She’s safe. She’s here.” Emilio brushed another kiss over her forehead.
She shook her head. “How did I get here?”
“We flew back by jet. I wanted you treated by my private doctor, so we got special clearance. You
were out for a long, long time. Marguerite said it was the powerful drugs they gave you.”
“You found me.”
“I found you.”
“You made me bungee jump.”
He chuckled. “Not by choice, believe me.”
“Olivia...”
“I know Fraya.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you.”
“I know why you did it. You did it because you loved me. No one could have made a greater sacrifice. Maybe, you love me still.”
“And Suzanne?”
“I was never with Suzanne. After you, there’s been no one. A few months after you left, Suzanne met someone. She never bargained on finding her true mate, but when she did, Antonio didn’t fit into their plans.”
“He’s with you?”
“She gave me full custody.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You asked me not to contact you. I believed you didn’t care, that you wanted to be free. I was too broken to do more but accept the fact that I had lost you.”
“Oh, Emilio, so much time wasted.”
“No. This is only the beginning, Fraya. You’re my mate, and the mother of my child, my children. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and never want to miss out on seeing another baby grow in your body. I love you more than anything, Fraya. I’ve loved you since the day I saw you falling into that river.”
“And I’ve loved you since the day you pulled me out of the water, into your life.”
“I’m sorry for all that you’ve suffered.”
“What happened to Andrews?’
“He’s dead. Killed by an arrow from one of the archers.”
“Welser?”
“Arrested. Smit was killed but Panagakos survived the attack and confessed. Welser and Panagakos are going to spend the rest of their lives behind bars.”
“And the lost city?”
“The government has announced the find, Fraya. They’ve invited you to attend a ceremony in your honor, to commemorate your discovery. They’re taking care of the villagers, supplying much needed medicine.”
“And the gold?”
“The chief has agreed for it to go to a national museum, in exchange for protection of his people. The chief and his priests are on trial for their crimes. It’s in the Peruvian government’s hands now. ”
“My father would have been so proud.”
“I’m sure he is, baby.” He hesitated. “The observatory offered you a job here at head office, but the Peruvian government wants you to continue your work in Peru.”
Fraya smiled up at him. “I think I’ll take the Santiago job. All I want is to be home.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “Even with no hormones to torture you?”
“It was never the hormones, Emilio. It was always you.”
“We’re a family, Fraya–you, me, Antonio and Olivia. Will you stay? Forever?”
“I love you, Emilio. I want to stay forever.”
“Say ‘I love you Emilio’”.
“I love you, Emilio.”
He cupped her hand and held it to his heart, where she could feel it beating, and the love they were meant to share, for the rest of their lives.
THE END
Acknowledgements
A special thank you to my publisher and editors Nancy and Megan; my beta-readers Angelique and Noleen; Marguerite for winning the character naming contest with Emilio; and Philippe, Claudia, the astronomers, technicians and helpful staff at the European Southern Observatory in Chile who guided me in the facts and setting of this story. Thank you to my family and friends for supporting my dream, and to my readers for making it come true.
About the Author
South African born Charmaine Pauls is a gypsy at heart who loves to look at the world through the lens of her camera. Before taking up writing full time, the novelist worked in public relations, advertising, journalism and marketing. She resides in Chile with her husband and children.
Other Books by Charmaine Pauls
Between Fire & Ice
The Winemaker
Second Best
Short stories by Charmaine Pauls
A Miracle for Christmas
The Ice Hotel Wedding Test, Frozen: A Winter Romance Anthology
The Grayton Christmas Supper Contest, A Holiday to Remember Anthology
Author website
www.charmainepauls.com
Coming in March 2015
Pyromancist (Book 1 of the 7 Forbidden Arts Series)
This book contains adult content with explicit language and consummated love scenes. Suited for an audience of 18+.
At the same time as mysterious fires commence to rage through Clelia d’Ambois’ home village in Brittany, France, she starts sleepwalking. Daughter of a Japanese orphan, Clelia’s heritage is riddled with dark secrets that threaten anyone she loves. In a recurring nightmare she sees Josselin, the haunted man who abandoned their village nine years earlier, come for her, but she doesn’t know why. All she knows is that she has to run. As fast as she can.
Leader of a paranormal crime taskforce, Josselin de Arradon is called back to his hometown with a mission–find and kill the firestarter responsible for Larmor-Baden’s blazing destruction. Sensing that Clelia is the key to solving the crime, Josselin kidnaps her to use her as bait. The battle doesn’t turn out quite as he expected. Nothing could have prepared him for the truth, or the depth of his desire for his prisoner.
Excerpt:
Josselin had only spoken to her once. It was on a summer day after school. She had wandered to the dense forest at the back of the schoolyard because she knew that was where she would find him. She stood behind a tree and watched him–studied him–the movement of his hand as he smoked a forbidden cigarette, the manner in which he pulled his fingers through his dark hair, and the way he laughed loudly into his gang of friends, even if his eyes cried, or blazed.
That day, however, he wasn’t with his friends. He was with a girl. Her name was Thiphaine and she was the most popular girl in school. She was blonde and slim and beautiful with blue eyes and red painted fingernails. Clelia watched from her hiding place as Josselin slowly backed Thiphaine up until her body pressed against the trunk of the witch tree. It was a thuja occidentalis but the townsfolk had baptized it so because of its twisted and crippled branches. The setting was eerie for a romantic adventure, and yet, it suited Josselin. He seemed right at home, while Thiphaine looked around nervously. His hand went to her cheek, his palm huge and dark and rough against the porcelain paleness of Thiphaine’s face, while his other hand slipped under her blouse. His gray eyes looked like melted steel when he lowered his head.
His shoulder-length black hair fell forward when he pressed his lips to Thiphaine’s and he moved his hand from her cheek to brush it back behind his ear. Clelia remembered the deliberate movement of his jaw, the way the muscles dimpled in his cheek, the hand under Thiphaine’s blouse, all the while maintaining his composure while Thiphaine came undone under his caress. The beautiful girl made low moaning sounds. Her knees buckled, but Josselin, without breaking the kiss, grabbed her waist, pulling her so tightly into him that her back arched, keeping her up with his arm while he made her weak with his touch and his tongue.
Watching them ignited both yearning and pain inside of Clelia. The hurt she felt speared her heart. The aching in her soul was suddenly greater than the heat in her pores and on her cheeks, but she couldn’t tear her stare away from the forbidden sight. It was Iwig, a boy from her class, who broke the painful spell when he discovered her behind the tree.
“What have we here?” he said.
His eyes darted to the distance where Josselin and Thiphaine were embracing. He knew what she had been doing. He was a tall, blond boy with a strong build, and Clelia disliked him for his habit of hunting abandoned cats with his pellet gun.
“A peeping tom,” he said, taking a step toward her.
When she tried to back away, he grabbed he
r long braid and tugged it painfully, causing her to yelp.
“Not so fast, witch.” He grabbed her arm and hauled her so that she stumbled into him. “You like to watch, don’t you?” He grinned. “How about a taste of the real thing?”
She opened her mouth to scream, but he had already brought his down and kissed her so hard that his teeth split her lower lip. In reflex her free hand shot up, aiming for his cheek, and collided with its target. The force of the blow shot Iwig’s head back and froze him in his action, but only for a second, before Clelia saw his arm lift. Not able to free herself from his grip, she cowered instinctively, but instead of his fist coming down on her, another pair of arms grabbed Iwig by his shoulders and flung him to the ground.
When she looked up, she stared into the face of Josselin, and what she saw was frightening. His features were twisted into a terrifying expression, and before she could say anything, Josselin bent down and lifted Iwig by his jacket lapels. Iwig’s legs dangled, flapping like fish on soil, while his arms flayed in the air as if swatting flies. Josselin let go of one side of the jacket, his fist arching and hooking under Iwig’s chin, while at the same time unknotting his other hand from the fabric of the jacket. The impact sent Iwig flying through the air. When he hit the ground, she could hear the loud thump as the air was knocked from his lungs. Josselin moved forward, his arms away from his body, his fingers flexing, his shoulders pushed forward, until he stood wide-legged over the submissive body of Iwig. Iwig lifted his hands in front of his face, mumbling pleas for mercy.
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