The wind, which had been nothing more than a soft breeze, stirred, gathering force and whipped the trailing branches of the trees violently. The temperature dropped. It wasn't a gradual chill. The snap and crackle of frost coated the bark, glittering white. That whiteness spread from the trailing tips of the branches, along the length of the thick limbs and chased down to the boles of the trees, transmogrifying the forest. It spread deep into the roots, freezing the earth beneath his feet.
Benjamin felt a snap of energy, an instant of bone-deep fear that simultaneously froze him in place and screamed at him to run and not look back. Don’t look back. Don’t ever look back.... In the center, where the roads crossed, the witch waited. She smiled and held out her hand. It was the first time he'd seen her smile, and it was beautiful, but the beauty was a thing of surfaces, there was no depth to it. He did not want to touch her because he knew then that she would feel every bit as cold as his dead Elizabeth.
He took a step, staggered, regained his balance and met her in the center of the road. If possible, the temperature dropped a few degrees further.
"Do you remember?" Jeanne asked. "Do you remember the words, Benjamin Jamieson?"
He didn't trust his dried, parched lips to form his answer. He nodded.
She raised her arm and gestured for him to approach. In that instant, he almost found the strength to run. He met her gaze, ignoring the wind and the cold and raised one foot from the road beneath him. He actually began to turn, but in the end, he couldn’t do it, not when a part of him believed this madness might truly be a chance for his Elizabeth to return to him. Instead, he stepped forward. In only a second, he stood so near to her that her breath, frosting in the frigid air, dampened his cheeks and her eyes became all that he could see.
The wind rose again, sending branches and leaves scurrying up and down the trails in all directions. The rime of frost coating the earth cracked brittle beneath their feet. Benjamin dared not move. Tiny crystals of ice swirled as the breeze agitated them, lifting up from the dirt as they twisted and gyrated, coming together like a small tornado localized around the clearing. Jeanne's hair, flecked white now, writhed like the reptilian locks of Gorgon Medusa, and her cold smile widened.
"State your name," she cried. The words caught on the wind and whirled about them so they seemed to come at Benjamin from every direction at once, embittered with the wrath of the mad wind.
"Benjamin Jamieson," he said, the words whipped away from his tongue. His throat was so dry it felt like he'd swallowed sand, but his words were clear. By some trick of the wind he heard them as if from a great distance.
"State your desire," Jeanne whispered - cried - screamed - laughed. She did all of these things, or maybe none of them. Her voice shifted from that of human to the elemental whispering of the wind itself, her words so forceful they were a scourge upon his soul.
"Elizabeth Stark's life; bring her back to me." he said softly.
The leaves rustled, accepting his demand.
"State your offer," Jeanne Dubois said. She reached out a long slender finger and poked her fingernail beneath his chin, lifting his eyes. He was momentarily disoriented because she lifted his gaze to hers, but surely he was the taller? Surely…
"Anything," he whispered.
Jeanne Dubois laughed again, the sound harsh and derisive. "Anything from the sweet boy," she said as she raised her hands above her head and turned her face to the moonlit sky. The silver light fused with the gilt frosting of the ice and the mad tangle of her hair. In that moment it went beyond beauty; she was radiant. She spoke a single word. Benjamin heard it, heard the rhythms of it, the curl of the sounds through the howl of the wind, but he could not decipher it. It was no mortal phrasing – at least none he had ever heard before that moment.
The wind wailed and swirled, the rustling of the leaves constant now. Everywhere around him the forest was alive, but it was a brutal life, one of unleashed fury. The storm grew, its anger fermenting. Weaker branches rotten through with woodworm and riddled with disease snapped and broke, snatched away by the powerful gusts. The howling of the wind reached a crescendo in a clap of thunder so loud he was not merely deafened, but the impact of the sound drove the air from his lungs and he buckled, falling to his knees. Benjamin closed his eyes and screamed, but that sound, like all of the others, was swallowed.
And then – it was silent. Not just quiet, silent; the entire world devoid of sound.
Very slowly, Benjamin drew his hands away from his eyes. Jeanne stood nearby, a look of absolute fascination splashed across her ethereal beauty. Benjamin looked up and saw that they were no longer alone. A man had joined them - at least, it seemed to be a man. The silence surrounding them was so complete it felt as though they'd been sucked into some other world…some other place, and that it was they who had joined the man, not the other way around.
The newcomer was tall and slender, uncomfortably so in both measures. He dressed like an undertaker or a puritanical man of God: dark hair, dark waxed moustache, and a dark suit, precise, neatly tailored, the cut of the cloth following his form perfectly. His shirt was starched so white it appeared to glow from beneath his jacket. Benjamin’s gaze shifted to a silver watch fob that dangled on a short chain from the man’s the breast pocket, and then down to the rolled parchment he held in his bony hand.
"Benjamin Jamieson," the man said. "Greetings and well met on this, ah, shall we call it an auspicious night? A night above all nights, I believe." He did not offer his hand, and the smile that split his too-handsome face, all sharp angles and shadows in the moonlight, held no hint of mirth or humor. "I hear you are looking to strike a bargain, to make a deal, to seal a compact?"
"I . . . I . . ." Benjamin stammered. He looked to Jeanne for guidance and he was struck not only by how beautiful she was here, in her element, but by the obviously familial similarity between her and the man she had summoned.
"Indeed, you…you. That is how most people who come seeking my help think. It is all about them. So tell me again, Benjamin Jamieson, what do you want, and what are you prepared to give me to make it happen? There must be consideration on both sides of a bargain, reward and risk, for it to be good and true."
"Elizabeth," Benjamin said, barely managing the one word.
The stranger inclined his head thoughtfully and ran a long bony finger along the ridge of his nose, intimating some sort of implicit understanding was passing between the two of them. Benjamin did not understand what it meant – no that was a lie, the worst sort, one told to himself. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t know what he had gotten himself into. He had come with the witch to a deserted crossroads in the heart of the forest, two roads crossing in a wood, roads that went nowhere and everywhere because they were pathways of the living and pathways of the dead, not roads at all. In this place where they crossed, where mortality was formed, she had summoned the man trapped beneath the cross. He didn’t for a moment imagine that the creature that had caused the sudden freeze was divine or benevolent. There were no wings, no halo, nothing remotely angelic. Indeed, it was altogether too human to be anything other than the worst aspects of mankind, greed, corruption, lust, avarice, wrath and all the things that showed just how far man had fallen from their Lord. If this creature of the crossroads wanted to deal it had its own reason, its own needs, and it was unlikely they would benefit any save it.
"Elizabeth," the stranger repeated, savouring the flavor of the name on his forked tongue. Benjamin shivered at the sibilance, the second syllable becoming saaaah as the man stretched it out. "And you would give anything to have her back, is that not so?"
"Anything," Benjamin repeated, knowing that his version of anything and the man’s were markedly different. Still, when it came down to it, he would give anything to have Elizabeth back. Anything. And that was a terrifying notion.
"Then it would seem that we are in a good place to begin our bargaining, wouldn’t you say?" He did not wait for Benjamin to answer; instead he rubbed his h
ands together briskly and stepped forward. For a moment, Benjamin thought the man was about to clap him on the shoulder like some long lost friend re-acquainted. He didn’t. Instead he tapped the side of the rolled parchment against his chin, the sharp angles of his face twisting as he feigned deep thought. "Now," he said after a moment’s musing, "what say we talk through the fine details? Strike that bargain and both leave here all the happier for our trade?"
Benjamin nodded. He had an inkling what was to come. He was no fool. "Name your price," he said, with a confidence he did not feel.
"Ah, a man after my own heart. Chase cut to, arrow driven into the heart of the matter. Wonderful. Quite wonderful. This is how a bargain should be struck, a deal between men who know their goal and are prepared to go the distance to achieve it. My price is always the same, boy. I am nothing if not predictable. A life for a life. You want your beloved Elizabeth returned to this life, some poor soul must take her place in that other place. And when I say some other, the only soul you have the right to trade is your own, so I name my price."
"And for that you will give me Elizabeth back?" Benjamin pressed. He couldn’t believe the business he was about, the trade in souls was as far from his ken as was imaginable.
"She will be returned to this life," the man said.
"No, no, not good enough," Benjamin said, sensing the trap inherent in the Devil’s words. "She must be whole, complete. She must be living and breathing, and most importantly herself, not some rot addled thing risen out of the ground. She has to be right. You have to bring her back to me."
"As is only proper. It would make a poor bargain to trade your immortal soul for a husk of a woman, would it not? You can trust me when I say she shall be exactly as she was."
"No," Benjamin said quickly.
"Ah, you are getting into the spirit of the dickering. Good, good."
"You are trying to hide the fact that you are lying to me."
"You do me wrong, young Benjamin. The one thing I won’t do is lie to you. I shall be as good as my word. That is to say precisely as good as my word. That is the art of the compact. Both should leave, shaking hands on the deal, and be aware of precisely what they have traded, what they have promised and what they shall receive in return."
"You say what I think I want to hear. That is how it works, isn’t it? If you return her to me exactly as she was then given time the same sickness will take her. I am no fool."
The devil smiled knowingly and shook his head sharply. "Ah, you see through the riddle of the game. I can see I will need to be alert when it comes to treating with you, Benjamin Jamieson. Indeed, she shall return to this life, healed and whole. I cannot say fairer than that, can I? Would you agree that I have met all of your demands? I have acquiesced to your desires and promised to sunder the veil between this world and the next so that Elizabeth, your one true love, can walk this world again, hale and hearty. And in return I want your soul. That is my price. I have been forthright with you in respect to my desires, have not tried to fool you with tricksy words or leave you befuddled and wishing you had a law man to decipher the confounding balderdash. Your immortal soul. That is my price. It is not so much weighed against all that you want from me, is it? The doors between worlds don't open easily. Have we a bargain, Benjamin, or have you wasted my time?"
Benjamin nodded. "Yes. Yes we do."
"Good," the devil said, flourishing the roll of parchment he clutched in his left hand. "There are formalities that must be adhered to, you understand, an inking of the agreement so that we are not faced with buyer’s remorse or some other distressing squabble down the line. Eternity is every bit as long as it sounds, and when you change your mind and seek to recant your trade I would have it in writing, bound in blood, so to speak, to prove that there is no wiggle room. So, please, read, absorb, ask any questions you might have, but most of all, sign here."
Before Benjamin could voice agreement, or dissent, there was an awful screech. The air above them exploded with sound, and a huge, decrepit looking raven dropped through the trees. Benjamin tried to flinch, but he was too slow. The bird landed on the stranger's shoulder with a solid thump. Without hesitation, the man reached up, grabbed a long black feather, and plucked it. The bird cried out and shuffled back and forth on its perch, but made no move to go.
"This will serve," the man said, and with a flourish he drew a shining blade from the pocket of his jacket. He barely flicked his wrist, but when he folded his knife and returned it whence it came, he held a perfectly trimmed quill. The man winked.
Benjamin's throat was so dry it burned. His eyes watered, and all his strength had left him. The stranger held out the pen with a flourish, and without thinking, Benjamin plucked it from the man's hand.
It was hot to the touch, and he would have dropped it, except he no longer had control of his hand. He gripped the quill so tightly he was sure it would snap, but it was flexible and strong, shivering in his grip.
"There is no ink," he said softly.
The moment the words left his lips, he regretted them. His memory of the past hour was vague, but something floated to the surface. Something the man had said.
"Signed in blood."
Jeanne stepped close. Benjamin turned at her approach, but too late to catch her intent. She lashed out with one long nail and it bit into the flesh of his wrist. Blood welled instantly. She gripped his forearm and scraped the nail across the cut, cupping several fat droplets on her fingertip and bringing them to her lips.
She did not release her grip on his wrist.
"The quill," she said. "Dip the quill, Benjamin."
The moment passed so slowly that the touch of the quill in the fresh cut on his wrist had passed, and the quill had pressed to the parchment before his gaze registered motion. By the time the long swirls of his signature were etched onto the page, penned in brilliant crimson and fading to corroded, rust brown, his mouth opened. As he completed the S and lifted the pen…he managed a whisper, just a tiny breath of sound that wheezed through dry lips and died short of sound.
"No," he said.
"Oh, I'm afraid it's much too late for that," the stranger chuckled. "Signed and sealed, you see. Very legal, very proper, and very final. You'll find it quite binding, in and out of court. I believe we have a deal, Benjamin."
Benjamin licked his lips. He needed to moisten them so he could speak. Something felt very wrong. He couldn't move his feet, and his balance was failing. The only thing keeping him upright was the iron hold of the witch, Jeanne Dubois, on his wrist. The same grip that had saved him from tumbling into the abyss earlier that night, only tighter.
He tried again to move. This time it was more than sluggishness. Something held him in place. He glanced down and cried out. The earth beneath him had crumbled. Pale, dead hands groped at his ankles and his calves. He struggled harder, but they held him easily, clawing their way up as if he was their ladder to the surface. A moment later, he realized with shock that they weren't climbing out…they were dragging him down.
"Wait!" he cried. "Wait! We have a deal."
The stranger stood watching, a slow smile curling his lip.
"I do believe you are correct, Benjamin," he said. "Have you forgotten your half so soon?"
"Elizabeth," Benjamin screamed. He fought with every ounce of his strength, but he could no more free his legs than he could tear his wrists from Jeanne Dubois' grip. She watched him, fascinated by his terror. He thought she licked her lips. He knew she smiled.
"Oh, never fear," the stranger chuckled. "Your Elizabeth is pulling the air back into her lungs at this very moment. Soon she'll be fully away, crawling out from under those flowers and heading into town. A bargain is a bargain, and I'm a man of my word."
"My legs," Benjamin groaned. The claw like fingers gripping his ankles and calves dug in, nails biting bone deep, and the groan rose to a scream.
"I wouldn't worry overmuch about the legs," the dark man said. He leaned in conspiratorially, keeping his voice
low. "You don't really need them anymore. I mean, in one form or another, I suppose, but once we've moved on…"
"Moved on? What are you talking about?" Benjamin tried to focus, but the pain was excruciating. Despite the cold he was drenched in sweat.
"Of course moved on. Crossed the river, descended to the dark place, whatever you like to call it. You didn't think I was going to change my mind."
"You promised to bring Elizabeth back to me – I offered my soul."
"Son," the man's eyes darkened, and all traces of false humor left his features. "You should really learn to pay attention. Our bargain was her life for your soul. I don't recall telling you I was going to wait for payment. I'm not really in the business of happy endings…a banker like yourself should understand. Payment on delivery."
At that moment something burst through the soil at his feet. The hand, if it was a hand, was large enough to wrap around both his legs at once. The fingers curled tightly, crushing his knees together, and there was a sickening crunch as his bones gave way. With the last dying strength remaining to him, he stretched out his free hand and clutched at the witch's wrist. He held her, as she held him. He dug in his fingers.
"I paid you," he said.
She met his gaze. She turned, still smiling, and nodded to the stranger.
"The poor boy has a point," she said.
"And what, pray tell, would that be?" the man asked. "I'm afraid that if there's a point, I missed it."
"Well," Jeanne Dubois said, her voice a husky whisper, "I had a business deal with Benjamin that preceded yours, and I'm afraid I may have been more generous. I may have said she would come back…to him."
"That is unfortunate," the stranger said, nodding gravely. "I don't suppose you signed an agreement? A contract? A legal document binding to and beyond the grave?"
He held out the contract and unrolled it with a flourish.
"Such as this," he said. "The way businessmen do business – the mark of a gentleman."
Hallowed Ground Page 7
