Slipping out of the camp had been entirely too easy. If Ananias could get out without any notice, how many savages could get in? If Manteo’s plan didn’t succeed, they would all be killed.
His plan would work. It had to.
He saw the glow of torches before he saw Manteo. The closer he came, the harder it was to breathe. Fear froze his feet, and he stayed at the edge of the twenty-foot circle of torches Manteo had spaced around the tree. The earth was scorched in intricate patterns. A small fire burned in the center, a clay pitcher and a wooden bowl next to it. Manteo squatted within the circle, on the opposite side of the fire.
“Did you bring your vessel?” he asked without looking up.
“Aye.” Ananias pulled it from his pocket and took a step forward.
“Do not enter!”
Ananias froze, partially relieved. The air around the circle felt thick and heavy, and each breath was a struggle.
Manteo chanted and stood, turning to face Ananias. He wore the clothing of his people, soft leather boots and a cloth around his waist. His chest was bare with a freshly inked mark on his skin over his heart, a tattoo comprised of squares, circles, and squiggly lines.
Manteo motioned for Ananias to enter the circle. The moment he was completely inside, the outside world hushed and the temperature warmed, as though the circle existed on a different level of reality. Sulfur burned his nose and coated his tongue. Terror filled him.
Manteo’s claims were true. The two men were standing at the edge of hell.
What madness had he agreed to?
Taking the cup, Manteo placed it next to the wooden bowl. He motioned for Ananias to take off his shirt. Ananias complied, slipping off his coat and two layers of upper garments. He waited for the shock of cold as he tossed his shirts to the ground, but it never came. Sweat beaded on his head. It really was warmer in the circle. Almost as hot as a summer day.
There was witchcraft here.
Ananias cleared his throat, trying to swallow his fear. “What are you doing, Manteo?”
“As I already explained, the Roanoke receive power from their gods. If we bind their gods behind this gate, we will cripple them.”
“Not that part.” Ananias’s eyes searched Manteo’s. “Why are you conducting the ceremony at all? Why would you do something so grave for my people?”
His face hardened. “The Roanoke are not friends to the Croatan. This will help my people too.”
Ananias nodded, his frayed nerves slightly soothed. Manteo’s motives were more understandable if his own people stood to gain.
“If I do this correctly, I will also seal the gate to Popogusso, and the vision I had will not come to pass, which is yet another reason to conduct the ceremony.”
Somehow, Ananias had forgotten about the graver threat in light of the more imminent one. What if Manteo’s ceremony was the catalyst that let all the demons loose instead?
Manteo clasped Ananias’s shoulder. “This will work. You must trust me.”
Ananias’s breath pushed past his partially open lips. His friend had just as much to lose as he did. “I trust you with my life.”
Manteo nodded, but he didn’t look happy. “From this moment forward, you must not speak. I will perform the ceremony in the ancient tongue.”
“Aye.”
Manteo chanted as he painted a mark similar to his own on Ananias’s chest. They were nearly identical, only Manteo had a primitive four-pointed-star-shaped mark in the center of his, and Ananias’s contained a lightning bolt.
As the ink coated his skin, power bloomed inside Ananias’s chest. Terrified, he prayed that the power came from God Almighty and not from the evil that lay behind the invisible gate.
Manteo chanted for hours. Ananias’s eyelids had drooped many times in the night until he noticed the sky begin to brighten in the east. If the ceremony continued to move so slowly, Ananias would miss his patrol shift. What would the other colonists think then?
The savage poured liquid from the clay pitcher into each of the vessels, picking up a rope and lifting it over his head with his left hand. Manteo clasped Ananias’s forearm, and he returned the gesture, in the form of a handshake. When Manteo bound their arms together with the rope, Ananias helped him secure the knot.
Manteo lifted a knife over his head, chanting. Then he flipped his palm open, and Ananias did the same, staying still as Manteo pricked the center of their palms with the point of the knife. Manteo collected blood from Ananias’s wound on the knife blade, and then smeared it into his own wound. His eyes rolled back into his head and he moaned, sending a shiver of fear down Ananias’s spine. The movement caught Manteo’s attention, and he scraped his own blood on the tip of the knife, mixing it with the wound on Ananias’s hand.
Ananias gasped as power rushed through his veins.
Manteo cut the rope, then set down the knife and picked up the pewter cup, motioning for Ananias to pick up the bowl. Together they drank the bitter tea. The moment the liquid touched his tongue, Ananias’s hair stood on end, his body stinging as though he’d been struck by lightning. A blinding light burst from the tree trunk, and he squinted as the overpowering stench of decay and metal coated his nose. A chorus of inhuman moans filled the night air.
Forcing his eyelids open he froze, horror washing through him.
Ananias was standing at the gates of hell.
CHAPTER FIVE
The tree was gone and in its place was a black metal gate. Creatures, more hideous than Ananias could ever have imagined, stood on the other side of the metal bars. Tentacles and tails. Claws and fangs. Slimy skin and scales. Some looked like animals and others resembled men and women. The demons reached through the slats toward the two men, moaning and cursing. “Son of the sea and son of the earth. Free us!”
Ananias’s eyes widened in terror.
His arm was still clasped with Manteo’s, and Manteo chanted more loudly and more insistently. Ananias realized that even though his friend chanted the ceremony in his native tongue, he could now understand all the words.
“Wind gods!” Manteo shouted. “Return to the pit from which you came!”
A howl filled the air and the wind gusted, making Ananias stumble, but Manteo’s grip tightened. Four creatures flew from the trees, landing within the circle. Men’s heads topped bird bodies, all four with differently colored hair.
“Manteo, son of the earth,” the birdman with red hair sneered. “You know not what you do.”
“We do not come from Popogusso, you vermin,” another shouted.
Manteo thrust back his shoulders. “You do not belong in this world.”
“Fool!” the redheaded bird screeched. “We belong to the world more than you do!”
A bird with long white hair moved closer to the men, his head bobbing. “We have existed long before Ahone’s pets spread across the earth. You dare to consider locking us behind these gates?”
Manteo ignored the god, digging his fingers into Ananias’s arm. “Demons and spirits that roam the earth, I summon you!”
A multitude of creatures emerged from the forest. Ananias felt their resistance through the power that rushed through his blood. But somehow the two men—together—had more power than the spirit world.
The thought filled him with fear. What had Manteo done to gain such power?
The demons flailed frantically, screaming into the night. But Manteo’s magic dragged them across the circle against their will, their claws digging huge ruts into the forest floor.
Manteo moved toward the gate, pulling Ananias with him. Sparks flew when Manteo’s hand touched the metal, and he swung it open by several feet. The creatures behind the gate rushed forward to escape.
Ananias’s heart leapt into his throat, but Manteo raised his hand, palm facing forward. “Stop!” His voice echoed in the trees behind them. “I am the son of the earth, born of space and heaven. I am black earth and sandy loams. The mountain ranges and the rolling hills. I am the foundation of life and the receiver
of death and everything in between. I compel you to obey my words.”
To Ananias’s shock, the creatures did.
Manteo’s eyes glowed with power. “I am the master of the spirit world. All will obey me.”
The demons in hell screamed and cursed Manteo and Ananias, more desperate to escape than ever. The creatures in the human realm huddled together, as though they were fighting an invisible binding.
Manteo turned his attention to them, his eyes wide and crazed. “Enter Popogusso, creatures of the night!”
Ananias gasped in shock. Whatever the source of the native’s magic, Ananias could now feel Manteo’s emotions through their bond.
Manteo was drunk with power.
The demons and monsters crossed the threshold in a steady stream, deafening Ananias’s ears with their screams.
“You will regret this, son of the earth!” the redheaded wind god screeched.
“Perhaps someday,” Manteo countered with an evil smile, “but not today.” He laughed. “Wind gods! Enter the depths of hell!”
They shrieked, the shrill sounds echoing through the trees as they slid across the forest floor. The air gusted from the flapping of their massive wings as they tried in vain to find purchase before sliding past the gates.
Ananias knew this was wrong. How could two men make spirits and gods obey them? Some sane part of him knew he should stop this madness, but he couldn’t. Not if this would really save his family. Not that it mattered. Something told him that it was too late.
Manteo leaned back his head, calling into the night, “Okeus!”
The air cooled and chill bumps spread across Ananias’s bare skin.
“Son of the earth.” The words filled the air and his head, vibrating through every part of his body.
Suddenly a man stood between the trees. He was a savage, the most handsome man Ananias had ever seen, but an unearthly glow surrounded him. His black hair was long on one side and cut short on the other. He wore a loincloth and was bare-chested. The god took another step toward them and the air instantly grew colder. “Son of the earth, you have overstepped your bounds.”
A shiver ran through Manteo’s arm, but he did not release his grip on Ananias. “I am righting the balance of the world.”
“Balance? What balance?” The god’s eyes softened. “You do this for foolish human reasons, my son. I urge you to reconsider and this will be forgotten.”
Manteo shook his head, his power giving him confidence. “I could not even if I wanted to.”
“If you do not stop this, you will regret your decision for the rest of your life. It will haunt you from generation to generation, for hundreds of years. Your actions will curse your offspring.”
Manteo hesitated. “I must save my people.”
Was he talking about the colonists or the Croatan?
“There are other ways.” Okeus entered the circle, continuing his slow advance toward the men. “Where did you learn of this ceremony, son of the earth? In the history of man, nothing like this has ever been attempted. Mankind never knew it was possible. Until now.”
Manteo’s grip on Ananias tightened.
Okeus reached out a finger, his nail an animal claw that traced the symbol in the center of Manteo’s mark. “Perhaps the answer is on your chest.”
The god’s claw sank deep and tore into Manteo’s flesh, outlining the star in blood.
Ananias felt Manteo’s ripped flesh through their connection, and he nearly cried out in pain and fear.
The god turned his attention to Ananias and smiled. “Son of the sea. What part do you have in this?”
Ananias’s eyes widened, his tongue thick and unwieldy.
Okeus’s claw traced the zigzagged line in the center of Ananias’s tattoo, the nail digging into his flesh but not tearing. “You bear my mark. Do you know what it means?”
Ananias shook his head, dizzy with fear. “No.”
“It means you are under my protection.” Okeus leaned close so that his face was inches from Ananias’s, the smell of rotten flesh making Ananias gag. “You can put a stop to this, son of the sea. Your friend is not to be trusted.”
“Enough!” Manteo shouted. “Silence.”
Shooting a glance at Manteo, Ananias wondered if Okeus could be right. He could tell that Manteo was not behaving like the rational man he knew. Had the witchcraft made him evil? Did Manteo have a hidden purpose for this ceremony?
Manteo sensed his confusion, whether he saw it on Ananias’s face or felt it through their connection. “Ananias, Okeus is an evil god. He sacrifices children and dines on their flesh. You can smell it on his breath. Would you believe his words over my own?”
Manteo made a good point. The native had compared Okeus to Satan, and Satan was the lord of lies.
But why then would Manteo have painted the evil god’s symbol on Ananias’s chest?
“Good and evil,” Okeus whispered.
Ananias struggled to breathe. Could the god read his mind?
Okeus smiled, a secret smile full of knowing. “The curse needs opposites. The earth and the sea. Nuppin and tosh-shonte. Myself and my twin—the good and evil. But which of us is which?” A sly smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “And it also requires sacrifices.” The god’s eyebrows rose. “Did he mention that?”
“Enough!” Manteo shouted, but his body shook with fear. “Ahone! I beseech you!”
An older man appeared before them. His hair and beard were long and white, and he wore a long white robe made of bleached deerskin. “Okeus, my twin.” His voice shook the leaves in the trees.
Ananias could see the resemblance now. Ahone was an older version of Okeus.
“Ahone,” the other god spit his name as though it were a curse. “I knew this was your doing.”
The older god stood on the opposite side of the fire. “You have gone too far, my brother. Your creatures leave destruction in their wake.”
“And yours do not? On this very shore, death has been like a constant companion. The earth has become greedy for your children’s spilled blood.”
Ahone’s gaze turned to the two men. “They have not yet reached their full potential.”
“Full potential,” Okeus sneered. “How many thousands of years have they had to do just that? You call my children monsters, but look at what your own have done.”
“They have much promise. More promise than yours.”
“But promise isn’t enough, is it?” Okeus shook his head. “What is your real purpose, my brother? What do you hope to achieve by locking us all away?”
“I hope to give my children a chance to live and thrive without your influence.”
“My influence?” Okeus laughed. “You think my influence has done this? If you follow through with this little scheme, do you think your children will stop all their violence?”
“It is worth the attempt.” Ahone took a step closer to Okeus. “Do not forget that you exist because of my generosity.”
“Your generosity?” Okeus shrieked. “You created me in your pathetic attempt to save your favorite creation—humanity. Yet one more example of a deception that you have reasoned away with your good intentions.”
“When the wind gods decreed I kill mankind or hand over the majority of my power, they never designated to whom I had to give my power. Can you blame me for looking for another way? I chose to create you and give you the power instead of sacrificing the human race. You cannot fault me for that. And if I was capable of such cleverness once, why assume that I would not be capable of saving humanity again? I’ve had eons to learn patience.”
Okeus tilted his head, an evil grin stretching his mouth. “So you have been waiting for this opportunity.”
Ahone didn’t answer.
Okeus laughed. “Who would have thought that the good and loving Ahone would be capable of such an underhanded scheme? And here I thought you gave me all of your abhorrent traits.”
Ahone remained expressionless. “Perhaps not all of them.”
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Okeus looked around the circle then toward the gate. “You know this seal won’t hold.”
Ahone’s shoulder lifted into a half shrug. “I’m willing to take the risk.”
Without warning, Okeus grabbed the pierced hands of each man, breaking their hold on each other. His fingertips seared the wound on Ananias’s palm, the smell of burning flesh filling the air.
The god’s voice echoed throughout the forest. “Ahone may have the power to lock us away, but I give you the power to set us free. You are the Curse Keepers, and your progeny are destined to remain here in this area as guardians of the gate. The firstborn of each generation will become the Keeper at adulthood, passing their information along to the next in line, but keeping it secret from the rest of the world. The gate will hold until the Keepers join the marks on their palms, breaking the seal. And then your children’s children will rue the day you created this curse.”
Okeus dropped their hands and Ananias looked at his palm, shocked to find a circle within a square burned into his skin. Manteo glanced at an identical mark on his own palm.
“Son of the earth, send him away now!” Ahone’s voice boomed.
Manteo locked arms with Ananias again, his eyes narrowing as he concentrated. “Okeus, brother of Ahone, creator of evil, go forth into the pits of hell.”
Ahone’s mouth moved in silent mumbles. Power and magic saturated the air around them and Ananias had to fight to inflate his lungs, adding to his panic. The salt of sea air burned his nose and the taste of freshly tilled earth coated his tongue.
“Do you offer your sacrifices to close the gate?” Ahone asked, his voice muffled by the curtain of magic.
Sacrifices? Ananias had never agreed to a sacrifice.
“Yes.” Manteo answered.
Ahone turned to Ananias.
What was he sacrificing? Did he even have a choice at this point? If he didn’t offer a sacrifice, the gate would burst open, and the angry demons and gods would be free to destroy his village. “Yes.”
Blinding light burst from the gates and a vortex of hurricane-force wind pulled Okeus toward its center. Manteo clasped Ananias’s arm and both men struggled to remain upright.
This Place is Death (A Curse Keepers Secret) Page 4
