Indescribable: Book Two of the Primordial

by Gibson, Bryce

  CHAPTER THREE

  RIMBAULT PLANTATION – 1795

  THE SUN was dropping in the east, leaving behind a fiery orange sky. In the west, night was already settling. There, the sky was the color of indigo. It was a color that the Rimbaults were known for. It was a color of wealth. Indigo was the crop that they grew in such abundance. Over the past several decades it had become a major farming venture for the state, all but replacing both cotton and rice as the money crop of the south. In that expanse of ever darkening sky, the moon and stars were just becoming visible. There was the very distant sound of music. It was the sound of a banjo coming from the slave quarters that were situated well off in the distance from the main house, nearer the fields.

  A horse drawn carriage was making its way up the dusty road that led to the front of the house. The wheels on the carriage screeched as they wobbled over shallow holes and pebbles. The carriage didn’t have any sort of cover, so there was no mystery about who the two passengers could have been. Instead, it was obvious to the naked eye that it was two men that sat inside the car. This wasn’t Stanwood Rimbault’s own carriage; his was beautifully polished and made of the finest cherry wood. The wheels on his were not unsteady the way that these were. Stanwood’s carriage held the images of ornately carved trees on both sides. This carriage was a blank slate, dirty, and not well kept. This was the carriage of someone else, a dangerous man, a vagrant; it was that of a thief and a villain.

  Stanwood was the passenger. From where he sat he could clearly see the looming front of his home. The white sides stood out brilliantly against the landscape. Several windows were aglow with candlelight. By the time that the pair of pitch black horses reached the front of the house the sun had already disappeared past the other side of the wide fields that stretched far into the distance.

  It was already late in September and there was a slight chill in the air. It was a hint of the coming winter. On the breeze there was the aroma of a distant bonfire. If you listened closely you could hear the crackle of kindling. Beyond the trees, plumes of smoke were rising into the sky. By mid September, work in the indigo fields was winding down. Many of the plants were already drying out and setting seed. Where there had been countless rows of beautiful blue flowers in the midst of the summer there were now straggly plants that held dark seed pods.

  The two horses neighed simultaneously. Stanwood stood from the carriage seat first, followed by the other man. Stanwood was wearing one of his nicest, crimson colored overcoats and a top hat. He removed his hat and his white hair and beard glowed under the now brightly full moon. The other man was thin and in need of a bath. His clothes were nothing more than discolored tatters that hung on his too thin frame. His upper lip was unfortunate enough to be the home to a filthy, overgrown and unkempt mustache.

  The two men stepped out of the carriage at the same time and walked across the dirt and grass. A woman was standing at the top of the steep incline of steps. It was Ella Rimbault, Stanwood’s wife. Ella was dressed in a long, deep blue evening dress that had been dyed by the Rimbaults very own indigo. Underneath the garment was a petticoat and high leather boots. On each side of her there was a metal lantern that was attached to the house, casting an orange glow over her pale skin and dark hair. She held a third lantern, this one she was just now lighting. The flame of the additional light covered the features of the two men that stood at the bottom of the steps below her.

  “Is he here?” Ella asked Stanwood quietly, not wanting anyone to hear. But the only people that could have been anywhere near earshot was their son and daughter who were both inside and the slaves who had already retired for the night.

  Stanwood nodded. “In the carriage,” he said and tilted his head in that direction.

  Ella looked past her husband, toward the carriage. She didn’t see anything that was out of the ordinary. One of the horses was pulling his hoofed foot across the dirt, flinging even more dust into the air. Ella swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, obviously worried about the events that were unfolding. She reached her free hand to her layered dress and hiked it slightly. Using the lantern to guide her, she ran down the steps, charged past the two men, and scampered across the dirt until she reached the open side of the carriage.

  Cautiously, she peered over the side, holding the lantern just so, so that the light illuminated what lay within. The lantern swung on its handle, causing light and shadow to dance across the dark. She could hear Stanwood and the other man walk up behind her and listened as they each took his own position standing on either side. Lying across the floor, near the underside of the seat, there was a man. His body had been wrapped in thick rope. His clothes were filthy. A burlap sack covered his head. When Ella looked closer, she saw that one of his arms was only a nub at the wrist. The fact of actually seeing him in front of her made the entire thing finally seem real. The fact of what they were doing slammed to the surface. Ella could feel her pulse quicken and her knees go weak.

  From behind Ella, very close to her ear, there was a loud gasp of shock and surprise. It was an exhalation of horror. The sudden and unexpected sound made Ella jump and caused goose-bumps to quickly spread over every inch of her flesh. She spun around, holding the lantern high, ready to hit if need be. Upon seeing who stood there, there was a calming sense of relief. It was her daughter.

  “Carolina!” Ella shouted at the teenage girl and then lowered her voice. Her eyes darted around, from Carolina and back. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be out here!”

  Carolina was seventeen. Her real name was Caroline, but had received the nickname because of the birthmark on her right cheek. It was in the shape of the state of South Carolina that Ella and Stanwood had seen on maps.

  “Off to bed,” Stanwood instructed Carolina.

  Carolina hesitated and was about to speak, but her words got stuck in her throat, and no sound came out. Instead, she turned from her parents and did as her father instructed. She ran back into the house and to her room.

  Earlier in the evening, Ella had sat in the parlor room of the house, waiting on her husband’s return. Behind her, numerous oil paintings lined the wall, each of them held within beautifully gilded frames. An embroidery project that she had been working on was clutched in her hands and draped over her lap. She was in the process of putting flowers onto a quilt that would surely be needed during the upcoming season. Her thoughts had been so overcome with worry that it was hard to concentrate on her work. She knew that her mind wouldn’t settle until she knew that Stanwood was safe. Every sound that she heard within the house had caused her to imagine that it was the beginnings of the carriage’s old wheels rolling up the driveway. As she sewed, she imagined the worst. What if Stanwood was hurt or killed during the mission?

  It was supposed to be simple. Stanwood had hired another man to do the dirty work. The other man, the one with the mustache, would be the one to perform the abduction. Earlier that day, the two men had set off toward the field where the one handed man had set up his temporary home.

  The man with one hand was a traveler. He had a lion that he would exhibit in towns all across the south. According to the few women that Ella knew that had been fortunate enough to see him in town, he was the most handsome man that had ever stepped foot into the area. It was common knowledge that the man was an adulterer, a womanizer. Beyond that, he was a murderer, or so they said. It was hard to differentiate what was rumor or fact, but it was believed that he had recently killed several men during his travels across the countryside. She and Stanwood had been watching him for a while. She remembered that the old hag that had given them the instructions had specifically told them that in order for their plan to work they needed a man that had an insatiable hunger and desire to do bad things. They needed someone that craved to harm and hurt others and could do so without any type of remorse for his actions. A man of pure evil, the hag had said. Ella could clearly remember her and Stanwood sitting in the hag’s cabin in the swamp and listening to her explain the
way that the spell would work. “I like to create a place for the curse to come from,” she had told them. “The spell I’m giving you will tell you how to make that place. It is your responsibility to find the one to put inside.”

  Over the past few weeks they had contemplated other men to be the one, like the vagrant that was there with them now. They knew for a fact that he had stolen and gotten into fights, but their snooping also revealed that he would often be found outside of the township’s old church, asking for forgiveness. Then the man with the lion came to town. It was something about him that immediately gave off a sense of unabashed wickedness, and after hearing the rumors that were soon spinning throughout the area, Ella and Stanwood had all but decided that he would surely be the one. As the plans grew nearer, and after discovering what the man had done to their own son, how he had beaten Jonathan and left him for dead in the creek behind the house, they knew for sure. Even now, they still didn’t know the circumstances of why the attack had taken place.

  Under the light of the moon and the lantern that she held in her hand, Ella watched as Stanwood removed the burlap sack from the man’s face. She felt herself exhale a deep breath, similar to the way Carolina had moments earlier. What she had heard around the township was true; he really was the most beautiful man that she had ever seen. She could see how it would be so easy for someone to fall for him. His eyes were impossibly blue. To look into his eyes was to look into an endless sea of want and desire. The man didn’t speak, he couldn’t; his mouth, like the rest of his body, had been wrapped numerous times with the thick rope.

  Ella watched as Stanwood and the accomplice hoisted the man up and over the side of the carriage where they simply dropped him onto the dirt, causing even more dust to rise skyward.

  “I don’t go no further,” the mustached man said.

  Stanwood nodded in agreement. It was, after all, what they had agreed upon. Stanwood motioned to Ella. She knew what he was asking. She reached into her dress and pulled out the small sack of coins. It was a lot of money in those days. She handed the satchel to Stanwood who without hesitation gave it to the man. The man smiled and Ella noticed that he was missing several of his front teeth. The man tossed the coin sack into the carriage where the bound man had lain just minutes earlier. Without another word, he jumped over the side of the carriage, lifted the reigns, and snapped at the horses. The horses whinnied and almost immediately began to gallop away.

  Ella and Stanwood watched as the dark carriage and the horses that pulled it disappeared into the night, leaving them alone with what they were doing. The man lay at their feet.

  “We need to get him to the garden,” Stanwood told his wife. “We have a long night ahead of us.”

  Stanwood kneeled down and grasped onto the man’s shoulders. With Ella leading the way, using the lantern to light the ground at her feet, he dragged him through the dirt and around the side of the house. They had to step through tall poke weeds and briars that snagged at Ella’s petticoat. Finally, they reached the start of the path that would lead to the garden.

  The carefully shaped boxwood hedges were taller than either Stanwood or Ella. They walked past the set of stone benches where Ella sometimes liked to sit by herself and contemplate things. It was one of those same benches where just earlier that year Stanwood had caught Carolina kissing a young man. Upon hearing about the incident, Ella had felt her heart break; she knew that because of the curse that the Halfords had placed on the Rimbault family, Carolina would never be able to fall in love. She knew that what the young girl had been doing that day in the garden had been out of pure curiosity.

  They made there way to the center of the garden. It wasn’t an overly huge garden like some plantations around the area had. This also wasn’t a formal type of garden. Instead, there was a series of seemingly random plants. There were herbs; chives and parsley were among those that were growing freely within a circle of rock. An obelisk stood amid the late flowering plants. Even though the layout of the garden hadn’t been done in a way that served a particular purpose, it was, nevertheless, perfect to Ella. It was a place that made her happy. Gardens had long been believed to be magical, and this one was no different. When Ella was there, she thought that anything was possible.

  The needed supplies were laid out on the ground. A large pair of rusty garden shears lay next to one of the finest mirrors from inside the house. A woven basket that held owl feathers, black stones, crow’s feet, and bat wings rested on the perfectly green grass. Within another basket, Ella could see an edge of brown and yellow fur. A pairing knife and a small glass jar of ink rested on one of the larger stepping stones.

  Ella watched as Stanwood picked up the heavy garden shears and stood over the man. Below him, the man’s eyes filled with fear. He wiggled underneath Stanwood, but the binding rope wouldn’t let him move very far. There were desperate moans of aversion behind the rope that was pulled tight across his mouth. Stanwood lowered the blades and snipped at the man’s shirt. After a small cut, Stanwood dropped the shears to the ground and grasped the dirty shirt in each of his hands. He ripped the fabric, exposing the man’s muscled torso and slipped it from underneath the rope that crisscrossed over his abdomen. Stanwood turned his attention to Ella and motioned toward the small glass jar of indigo.

  Ella promptly lifted the jar, along with the small paring knife. She handed the items to her husband and Stanwood placed the jar onto the ground at his side. Kneeling over the man, he held the knife to his shoulder, hesitated for a moment, and then made the first prick into the flesh. A dark drop of blood quickly came to the surface. Underneath Stanwood, the man continued to wiggle and spasm, fighting against what was happening to him. As Stanwood continued, the sounds that the man was making were horrendous. Ella simply closed her eyes against what she was witnessing. When she opened them again, Stanwood had already dropped the knife and was lifting the ruined shirt from the ground. With the shirt, Stanwood wiped the blood away from the man’s shoulder. What Ella saw behind the crimson smear is what she knew would be there. It was the likeness of a cat. With the point of the knife, her husband had etched a black cat onto the man’s shoulder. Stanwood lifted the jar of dye and poured it onto the just carved flesh.

  Stanwood got to his feet and instructed Ella to bring him one of the baskets.

  Ella stepped to the basket that was to her right. It was the one that held the feathers, stones, and bat wings. She grabbed it by its handle and placed it on the ground next to Stanwood.

  Piece by piece, Stanwood placed the items underneath the rope that was already wrapped around the man’s torso. It didn’t take long for him to place the entire basketful of charms.

  Stanwood stood again and looked at his wife. “Now, the mirror,” he said with a gleam in his eye and a smile on the corner of his lips.

  Ella lifted the mirror from where it had been propped against an azalea bush and placed it flat on the ground. She could see herself in the surface of the glass. The round, full moon was positioned just over her shoulder. From behind her, she could hear an impatient huff coming from Stanwood, and so she lifted her leg at the knee and brought the heel of her boot down onto the glass. She watched as the image of her own self went from one that was so familiar and whole to being fractured into numerous shards.

  She kneeled down by the broken glass and selected thirteen of the longest pieces and placed them on a square, blue cloth that was lying flat on the ground. She walked to Stanwood with the piece of fabric cradled hammock-like between her hands. He took the first shard from her and held the sharpest end at the man’s abdomen for a moment before pushing it into his flesh. The man’s eyes were lit with pain and fear. He continued to moan behind the rope. Stanwood did this with the remaining twelve pieces of glass, and by the time that he was complete, the man’s torso was a blood soaked mess.

  “The mask,” Stanwood said.

  Ella turned around and walked toward the final basket. Like she had done with the other one, she lifted it by its handle
and carried it to Stanwood. She placed it on the ground. She watched as her husband reached into the dark interior and pulled the mask out. It was the hide of wolf and leopard faces that had been sewn together right down the middle. The ears, snout, and teeth were intact. It had been Ella’s very own sewing needle that had been used to stitch the two skins together.

  Ella looked down at her hands and was suddenly sickened at the thought of what she had done, these hands, mine, have had a part in all of this? She looked from her own hands and toward Stanwood’s as he held the mask. His hands were covered in blood, but she knew that figuratively the very same blood was on hers as well.

  Stanwood once again kneeled over the captured man and placed the mask over his face. After tying the leather strings at the back, Stanwood stood up straight. Ella walked to him and they stood side by side, looking down at the one handed man. The transformation was finally complete. The man’s body was a map of various symbols. The black cat, the owl feathers, the bat wings, the crow’s feet, thirteen shards of broken mirror glass, the rope, the mask that had been made of wolf and leopard; all of these things were superstitious symbols of bad luck and evil.