CHAPTER 10 - THE SACRIFICE
And now it was time. Ramon slid out of the car, clutching the knapsack and its magical contents in one hand. He slipped the sack onto his back, straps over his shoulders, leaving his hands free. Then he stole silently through the trees, moving from shadow to shadow, like a ghost, until he stood at the edge of the sleeping village.
Silently, he crept across the now-deserted common and over to the small shack where his newly discovered nephew lived with the old grandfather. For a moment doubt flickered across his mind. What if he went to the wrong shack in the dark? What if he was seen creeping about?
But these thoughts disappeared as quickly as they had come for, as Ramon peered into the structure, he saw the boy. The little fellow lay alone, curled up in the corner. No one else slept nearby. The shack had been constructed, as was his own hut, by simply leaving open, uncovered spaces for the door and windows.
Ramon threw back his head and quickly clapped a hand over his mouth to suppress a cry of relief. He struggled with himself and, as soon as he had regained self-control, he crept toward the boy. Ramon made no sound. His unblinking gaze remained on the child, his eyes glittered as he slithered closer . . . closer. The boy sighed in his sleep and threw his right arm to the side.
Ramon caught his breath and glanced quickly around at the grandfather, the mother, the little sister. All were still. Ramon forced himself to wait one minute, and then another. The sleepers continued to breathe evenly. Ramon inched forward. He reached out one hand and touched the boy, glancing nervously about. No one had moved. Ramon leaned down and scooped the boy up quickly, one hand over the child’s mouth. The boy made no response.
Ramon smiled. The child slept as deeply as death, as children often do. He clutched the child to his chest and hurried from the shack. He slunk across the open area, keeping to the shadows whenever possible, until he entered the woods leading to the tree.
As he passed between the trees, mosquitoes brushed busy wings against his cheeks and arms, singing their bloodthirsty song. But Ramon didn't hear them, for he was singing his own song. His heart and brain sang of his desire for power. And his song was so loud that it drowned out all other songs.
As he hurried through the woods toward the tree with the sleeping child in his arms, the branches and vines seemed to reach out to him. But they didn’t catch at his clothes as before. This time they seemed to caress him. They were glad he was among them. He was supposed to be here tonight. He was supposed to be doing this.
It all seemed so right. And the invisibles approved. He was sure of that.
The consenting moon lit his path in brilliant silver, temporarily transforming the leaves and trees into a fairyland. As Ramon’s sandaled feet flew along the forest floor, he couldn’t help but marvel at the surrounding landscape. It was as if it were part of some supernatural setting created by the invisibles for this, his night of nights!
He pushed on, each step bringing him closer to the tree, and then, suddenly, there it was, looming before him. Terror rose in his throat, but it was only momentary, as the tree seemed to beckon him closer. It favored an audience.
Ramon held out the child to the tree and the branches swayed gently in his direction. Ramon caught his breath. There was no wind. The tree had a life of its own! He forced himself to move closer, close enough to touch its bark.
He placed the child in a hollow formed by roots at the base of the tree and knelt down beside it. But he had no intention of making the same mistake Felix had made. He put his knee on the boy’s shirttail and pinned it to the ground. Ramon took off his knapsack and glanced down at the sleeping child. The boy remained in a deep sleep.
Ramon removed a number of small bowls from the sack and filled one with the special powder of protection and another with incense he’d brought from Cristo. Then he filled the remaining bowls with the herbs and provisions he’d gathered earlier. Ramon spread the bowls around in a semi-circle on the ground before the tree.
He paused to listen. The forest was strangely quiet. Even the tree seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation of the sacrifice to come. Ramon reached into the sack again and this time he withdrew a small, straw mat. He placed the mat on the ground and began to lay the river stones on top of the mat, arranging them to form the magical pattern described in the book. He withdrew the candles from the sack, ringing them around the sleeping form, then placed others on the rocks near the tree. Now his preparations were complete.
Ramon knew that once he began summoning the Baka, there could be no stopping to rearrange his preparations. He looked about at the bowls, the stones, the incense, and the iron powder. Then he ran through the ritual in his mind one last time before he began.
Ramon scratched absently at an insect bite on his left forearm. A mosquito bite! Without the Baka’s protection, he would almost surely catch the dreaded illness. And Ramon’s confidence momentarily deserted him. Beads of nervous perspiration appeared on his forehead and he glanced about in panic. The moment of truth was here.
His preparations were as perfect as he could make them. He must either summon the Baka now or abandon the plan completely. He could feel the tree waiting. Somehow he understood he couldn’t expect to whet the Baka’s strange appetite and then renege on performing the ritual.
Ramon reached into the sack one last time and withdrew a small booklet of matches, which he thrust into the breast pocket of his shirt. Then he made sure his precious book was safely inside the knapsack at his feet. Ramon stared down at the boy. Still sleeping!
Ramon drew his breath sharply and reached for the matches. Still not daring to breathe, he struck a flame, and bent to light the first candle. The candlewick burst into flame. The small light restored his confidence and he lit the second candle, and the next. Soon all the candles were aflame, illuminating the forest altar. Ramon touched a match to the oils and incense. Wisps of pungent smoke began to rise from the small dishes and made their way into his nostrils. He found these odors strangely stimulating and felt the Baka shared his excitement.
Ramon took a small bottle of rum from his pocket and uncorked it with trembling fingers. Then he took a mouthful and spat it in the boy's face to mark the child as a sacrifice. "May the invisibles find this offering pleasing," he murmured. The boy started, then spluttered as the liquid struck his face. Ramon's left hand gripped the child tightly by his throat.
The child awoke and began to struggle, to cry out, but Ramon held him fast. The boy looked up and his eyes opened wide with terror at the sight of Ramon crouching over him. Ramon smiled down at the child, a terrible smile, and began to speak the words to summon the Baka.
Perhaps not so much as to summon the demon, he mused for he now realized this was where the Baka lived. The Baka would always be found here because it had chosen to make this tree its meeting place between the two worlds for those who would strike a bargain. And now Ramon had come to the tree, like so many before him, to forge his evil pact.
As he thoroughly engrossed himself in his ritual, he had no way of knowing that the boy’s mother had awakened in the small shack and was sleepily calling to her son. Ramon reached the point in the ceremony where the offering was to be made. His right hand raised the knife high above his head. The pressure of Ramon’s thumb on the small windpipe was too great and the figure beneath him ceased to struggle. Tears squeezed from beneath the child’s eyelids. I’m doing him a favor, Ramon mused, for if I don’t sacrifice this boy, he is sure to die of asphyxiation from a damaged windpipe.
Back in the shack, the boy’s mother roused the grandfather.
"The boy is gone!" she cried.
"He is just outside to leak water," the old man grumbled, rolling over.
"No!" insisted the mother, "something is wrong. We must look for him."
The grandfather turned back, catching sight of her frightened face. "All right," he mumbled, staggering to his feet and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Hurry," she whispered, "but don’t wake the baby."
/> They left the younger child sleeping sweetly and stepped out into the darkness. The old man frowned. Something was wrong. The night was too quiet.
Back at the tree, Ramon announced his wish to bargain and brought down the knife. The small body shuddered as the blade plunged deep, blood spurting from the wound.
The child’s mother was just entering the wooded area when she clutched her chest. As she collapsed on the grass, her anguished scream tore through the night. The old man stared down at her in horror. It was happening again! And this time, it was happening to his grandson. He would tell the others. They must find the one responsible for this crime.
The child’s flowing blood freed the Baka and the demon burst through the barrier that separated his realm from the forest world, shattering the night into a thousand fragments. The concussion threw Ramon to the ground. He stared in horror as the Baka fell greedily upon the child. Small bones snapped like twigs as the creature tore off limbs and chunks of flesh, greedily gobbling them down. Ramon cringed in terror. A scream rose up and froze in his throat.
Then the Baka drew near to Ramon and reached out, one terrible claw extended. Ramon lay where he'd fallen, unable to breathe, the scream silently playing on his lips. Finally, he managed to stammer his bargain. The creature paused, listening, its claw almost touching Ramon’s face. Then it dropped down and placed something in Ramon’s hand.
Promises! Promises of what the Baka would do for him exploded in his brain.
Ramon trembled with excitement as he gazed into the Baka’s smoldering eyes. The creature approved of this sacrifice and had given him a reward for daring this bargain. He clutched the token of their pact in his hand, holding his breath in anticipation. When he dared look down, a frown creased his forehead. It was only a stone. A small, black stone. Then he gasped in amazement. He’d heard of this stone. Only a very exceptional sorcerer, a sorcerer with great power, could possess such a black stone. And this was proof of their pact.
The shouts of the boy’s family interrupted his thoughts. Ramon shot a glance in the direction of the village and, when he turned back, the Baka was gone. Ramon jumped up and staggered a few steps. He was alone in the forest, the dwindling candles flickering on the boy’s remains.
The inhabitants of Liberte drew closer, stumbling along, crying out the boy’s name. Their progress was marked by angry shouts as they came crashing through the brush. Beads of perspiration dotted Ramon’s face as he snatched up his knapsack and tucked the black stone deep inside. Bending down, he quickly scooped up the contents of his makeshift altar and stuffed this, too, inside the knapsack. Then he buckled it shut. He thrust his arms through the straps and ducked into the bushes.
He raced down the embankment and along the path leading to the river and the main road beyond. By the time the searchers entered the clearing and stumbled over the child’s remains, Ramon was scrambling across the loose rocks along the riverbank. Behind him, anguished cries rent the air. The villagers had found the object of their search.
Ramon’s feet flew along the ground and gained the main road. He hurried along in the moonlight, keeping to the trees. The little man knew there was no one to witness his passage since, by then, the entire village had arrived at the tree. He continued his mad dash along the road until he came to the place where he'd hidden the car. He had no problem locating the spot. It was as if invisible forces were guiding him.
Thus far, the Baka had kept its promise!
Ramon yanked open the door of the battered Chevy and threw the knapsack inside. Jumping into the driver’s seat, he fumbled for his keys. The little car started smoothly. He pulled out of the leafy, hiding place and, for the first hour, he put as much distance between himself and the villagers of Liberte as he could manage. Then he slowed down and reached over to pat the knapsack. He yawned happily and settled back in his seat for the long trip home.
Spellbound: a Tale of Magic, Mystery & Murder Page 12
