Watching Rizal, as she was now, was as addicting as lemon ices. Margaret only hoped it wasn't as fleeting a love. Did she just use the word love? Funny that, the way the mind trips itself, she mused. Certainly he made her blood heat. She had spent not a few minutes thinking back over every man who had taken an interest in her. Not a one made her think of getting naked and ignoring the pain and indignity of sex. Rizal not only made her think of it, she couldn't care less where they were or how it was accomplished, she wanted him so badly. She flushed, the heat running from her cheeks to the tops of her breasts.
Could it be that she was merely attracted to him? Yes, she enjoyed listening to him talk about his homeland. Such passion and attention to detail. He was obviously intelligent, being fluent in a number of languages. When she had pressed for which he could speak he had shrugged and blushed, something she rarely if ever saw a man do. It was more than modesty, but a sense of doing what had to be done—what needed to be done for his land and his people.
How could he possibly love her or simply know her well enough to want to spend a lifetime at her side? Because for her that was what marriage meant, a lifetime commitment.
Margaret shook her head at the fanciful turn of thoughts. I have to get through this expedition first, she reminded herself. Her father, the Reverend Thawley, she would never understand. There were days when she thought the man loved her dearly and others where she felt hated. Then there was the one afternoon that she caught him looking at her and could have sworn he regarded her in fear. But why? And why arrange to send her on this quest with his longtime friend? If he hated or feared her, why put her in a position to cause harm to someone he held in high esteem?
Rizal knew the answer. What upset her was that instead of sharing the information with her, he treated her like fragile stained glass, as if he had to make up for what was done and she had no clue what that may have been! It wasn't that she didn't love the dresses and shoes and everything else. It was incredibly thoughtful of him to have considered her physical comfort, but inside she was going crazy trying to understand what was happening and how much danger she was in.
"Why are you looking so worried?” The words startled her and she managed to trip over a small rock ledge. Firm hands caught her, keeping her from falling and pulling her to the questionable safety of Rizal's arms. She questioned her safety in his arms, not because she doubted him but because she knew that with him, she didn't think—she wanted and took.
"I'm worried because in a few minutes I am to leave with Sir Joseph to go to some unnamed location for an unspecified task that will naturally require us to remain in a field all night.” And because I think you are insane for believing that you love me, her mind finished the thought she was too cowardly to utter.
"And?” The twitch of his lips indicated he knew very well what the missing ‘and’ was.
"And I can't see how you could truly love and wish to marry me. Happy?” She pulled away, stalked to a stone bench, and sat with a huff.
"No, mahalin, I am not happy, not so long as you are so upset.” He crouched beside her perch. “Would you believe it if I told you I have been known to go days, even weeks without speaking to another person? I have no desire to talk to others, but you, I want to sit on the beach and unload my entire heart to you. There is something about your smile, the way you stop and consider things, that caught my eye long enough for all that you are to snare the rest of my heart.” He gently laid a finger against her lips when she made to speak.
"Trust me, sinta, to know my heart well enough to know what I want and need. Trust me to be honest enough to admit to that need and see it for what it truly is. Love. I would also ask that you trust me through tonight to keep you safe. I have an idea as to what Hooker wishes to accomplish, but am unsure. Know this, I will not allow you to be harmed. I am a warrior of my people, let me keep you safe."
Margaret tried to be cynical and not let his words move her, but they did. Foolish heart, she sighed and rested her hands on his shoulders. All afternoon she wanted nothing more than to be able to touch him, reassure herself that he was real and wouldn't disappear when she closed her eyes. Too good to be true, she shook her head clearing her thoughts.
"If you see me scared, could you perhaps signal me so I know that you are around?"
Silently he captured her gaze and she felt her fear subside as he shared his strength with her.
"Without a doubt. What would calm you?"
Biting her lower lip, she licked the suddenly dry skin. “This is going to sound silly, but small burning lights, like candles have always made me feel safe. For some reason,” she quashed the memory of her nightmares, “they remind me of my mother and I feel stronger."
"Then you shall have your wish."
"Thank you.” Margaret felt suddenly at ease and less self-conscious. She hadn't noticed how close she'd pulled Rizal.
His eyes danced a moment before his lips found hers. All thoughts flew from her mind like startled birds as he teased her mouth to open to him. The velvety probe of his tongue met hers and swirled before pulling it into his mouth where he lightly sucked the appendage, causing her hands to clutch his shoulders, digging her fingers into the firm flesh with want. He growled low in his throat and grasped the back of the bench on either side of her hips, and pushed into her softness, craving the feel of her body beneath his.
"Rizal, my son, it is time for the girl to go.” His father sounded entirely too entertained as he interrupted their kiss. Pulling back slowly, Rizal dropped a kiss on her full lower lip. “Trust in me."
With those words, Margaret allowed her eyes to flutter open. She didn't want to watch him leave. They had only spent a handful of hours together and yet it felt as though they had shared weeks. She missed him already.
Shivering despite the heat of the day and the thick humidity, Margaret hugged her arms to her waist and dropped her eyes to pass the grinning Hari in search of Sir Joseph and their guide.
Chapter Nine
Kanani was a standoffish sort of person. He made three things very clear: that he was Muslim and was devout in his prayers, that he did not like the English, and that he would perform his duty as guide only because his datu ordered it be done.
"Rather a likeable chap once you get past the arrogance,” Sir Joseph quipped as they set off in a small pony-drawn cart. Margaret grabbed her mouth to keep from laughing. Somehow, she felt certain that Kanani would discover a dislike for the laughter of women and sniff about that was well.
"Where are we going, Sir Joseph?” She couldn't help but be interested as the cart bounced over the rutted road. The lane headed out of town towards a scant collection of farms before ascending the foothills of lush mountains tipped in fog that spread out before their cart.
"We are going to a cemetery of sorts where the Berbalangs have been known to feed."
Her stomach almost rebelled at the image that rose to the surface of her mind; a twisted humanoid form with iridescent eyes and sharp pointed teeth ripping sections of half-rotted flesh from a naked cadaver.
Hoping to get her mind on something not so gruesome, she studied the passing scenery. The trees popping up here and there along the road were of an unknown species featuring long, thin saw-toothed fronds or huge, leafy green paddles. Margaret longed to ask what each plant was, but Sir Joseph was busy taking his own notes. Instead, she settled for describing as best she could the landscape and the flora in her own words. But the thought of gnawed on dead bodies kept resurfacing.
Couldn't she have been banished to a convent instead of this? Drat and double drat her father's bizarre aversion to Catholics. At least in a convent she wouldn't have the nasty image of half-eaten people lurking in her brain. And in a convent she would never have met Rizal. She wriggled as the wagon abused a part of her anatomy that warmed uncomfortably.
"Why are we going to a cemetery where it is reputed that someone or something ate the dead?” she asked, seeking to divert her thoughts.
Sir Joseph
sat straighter and grasped his lapels, a sign Margaret was beginning to associate with him settling into “lecture mode.” As they jostled and bumped along the road, she learned that with the advent of the Berbalangs, people stopped burying their dead in cemeteries, choosing instead to place them beneath their homes to ensure the safety of the bodies.
"I suppose that makes sense. If you want to desecrate the grave, you'd have to go through the living as well as the solid floor, and it would make it unnecessarily hard. But didn't the people consider that they were placing their lives in jeopardy?"
Sir Joseph nodded happily. “You've got the right of it, dear. That is what is reputed to have happened. But only after there were no other dead for them to feast on.” He went on in his sonorous voice discussing the means of repelling the ghoulish creatures. Lime juice at the doorways barred the creature's entrance, spread on meals revealed their trickery, and smearing the juice on blades ensured the weapon would cause damage. Then there were the all powerful coconut pearls.
"I wonder what is supposed to make a lime so powerful.” Margaret mused aloud. Sir Joseph just harrumphed something about idle superstition and jotted a quick note in the book on his lap. “I've never heard of a coconut pearl. Have you ever seen one, Sir Joseph?"
Finally, the older man found a subject truly near and dear to his heart. When Kanani pulled the wagon to a halt to unroll his prayer rug, the lecturing Englishman didn't so much as pause as he discussed the possibility for a plant to create a nacre within its husky shell as did the clam and oyster. “Both hosts are living things,” he continued droning on, talking above her head and beyond her desire to really understand the topic. She had just thought it would be something interesting to see, a pearl from something as large as a coconut. Then a thought occurred to her.
"Sir Joseph, for the natives to believe in the power of a coconut pearl, wouldn't there have to have been at least one? And wouldn't it have to have worked?"
"Two very good questions, my dear.” Margaret was also getting slightly tired of being called ‘my dear’ every third sentence. “There was supposed to be a man by the name of Hassan in possession of one, but he died and it was never found or recovered in his possessions."
Up the road she spotted a wide, leveled-off spot devoid of trees and plants. Even the birds and animals seemed to avoid the spot, staying to the cover of the surrounding forest. Any sound that filtered through the cover was muted, as if they feared calling too much attention to themselves in such a place.
Kanani pulled the shaggy brown pony to a halt, ignoring his passengers. Upon seeing the pony cart, Margaret had snuck a small handful of sugar cubes from the dinner table. As Sir Joseph excitedly photographed and catalogued the plants and trees surrounding the site, she watched as their guide loosened the straps on the small horse and led him to a stream for a drink. That accomplished, he dropped the thin leather leash attached to the halter and the animal slowly moved off to graze.
"Won't he run away?"
"No, he has been trained not to run so long as his lead drags the ground. It is a trick that the Bedouin teach their own horses for battle.” He sneered as he spoke, but dutifully turned and secured the wagon for the evening. Not wishing to startle the pony, Margaret walked near where he grazed and slowly lowered her offering to the grass. Retreating to a safe distance, she watched as the animal lifted his muzzle and sniffed the air before venturing over to see what she'd left. Contentedly, he munched the treat and eyed her hopefully, looking for more.
"Sorry, I only brought that handful for you,” she apologized, earned a woebegone look from the pony and a derisive snort from Kanani. The sun was beginning to drop towards the horizon so she hurried forward to see what assistance Sir Joseph needed when she fully caught sight of where he intended they spend the night.
There were four squared off trenches dug as deep as a man was tall and as large as any home in the village they had left. A part of her mind wondered if that had been their original intended purpose, basements for homes before another decided to dump armies of the dead in them. Each hole was full of the polished bones of innumerable bodies. Skulls lay grinning up among criss-crossed arms and legs, here and there twisted a spine as the arch of a ribcage rose above the pile at an unnatural angle. Some of the bones were a radiant white, others had yellowed or were stained an earthy brown.
Words failed Margaret as she stared in horror at the massive number of bones, human bones, lying at her feet. Each opening in the earth easily held at least one hundred bodies if not more. But all her mind could summon was an idle prayer of thanks that there was no odor. The unfortunates below her had been dead far too long.
"Killed in battles with pirates and soldiers.” Kanani's normal bluntness was tempered with an emotion she couldn't identify.
"But ... but why leave them like this? Without cover or prayer?” It was sacrilege to almost every faith she knew to treat the dead with such disregard. Nothing in her life prepared her for such economy of caring.
He merely shrugged. “It could be there was no one left to mourn them. It also could be that these were ones who turned against the Sultan and were executed. It is not for us to question why they were left here, never to enter the gates of Paradise.” With that, the taciturn guide unrolled his prayer blanket and looked towards his own salvation, the army of the dead silently resting behind his back.
Margaret shivered and resumed taking notes as her mind conjured clacking sounds of bones shifting and moving to test her mettle. It was unnaturally quiet and her imagination sadistically filled the void with whispers, tears, and awful sighs that vanished as she turned to find the source.
As the sun set and the sky turned dark, she followed Sir Joseph's direction, walking into the woods, marking down descriptions of key plants and hunting for a trace of anything unusual or forming a recognizable pattern or path. The only problem being almost every plant looked unusual to her. Her feet ached and her mind was numb from the horror of staring into the empty eye sockets of so many skulls. All she wanted was for the trip to end right here and now. But that wasn't to be. Kanani had lashed some poles together and made a small place for him to sleep, raising another question.
"Sir Joseph, where are we to sleep tonight?” She cringed at the thready sound of her voice. It now made sense why even the birds refused to sing here. It seemed wrong, as if the scattered dead would be offended by the sound and rise up.
"Sleep? Good God, girl haven't you been paying attention? We aren't to sleep, we are to wait at the edge of the pits and watch the woods for the lights of the eyes of the Berbalangs."
Stunned, her mouth fell open; he was serious. He intended for them to stand all night at the edge of the most distressing assemblage of human remains she'd never dreamed of while staring into the dark jungle for supernatural eyes.
"What if ... what if we see the eyes?” her voice didn't want to work.
"Then we advance into the forest and confront the beasts!” he declared full of scholarly bravado, adding in a gentler vein, “more likely than not we'll find a prankster if anything should happen.” That said, he tied a scarf around his middle and slid the machete she spied on the boat at his side.
The way his pockets bulged, she knew he was armed with limes. She had no short sword, no basket of limes and no mythic coconut pearl. All she had was the hope that Rizal would find where they had gone and be at the ready with a candle to offer her hope.
* * * *
The night in Cagayan was at once terrifying and enthralling. Margaret had found a rolled travel rug in the wagon and laid it on the ground near the corner of the pit farthest from Sir Joseph and the small cooking fire Kanani laid. It had been hard pulling herself from the reassuring light of the fire, but she wanted to be as far away as possible from the others in case Rizal came.
There were no street lamps, electric lights or even the flicker of candlelight in homes as parents readied themselves for bed. She had gotten used to the muted glow of oil lamps in the evening aboar
d ship. Now that they were gone entirely, Margaret keenly felt the loss.
But for every difference, there was a similarity that made her feel more comfortable in the night. There were the bright green flickers of fireflies, chirrups from crickets and the rhythmic chirruping of frogs. Hearing the familiar sounds, she closed her eyes against the distraction of starlight and heard the distant rushing note of a flowing stream. It was almost the same as sitting in her father's yard at night when sleep eluded her. Stars, the sound of wind in the trees and the occasional cry of a night bird, all the same but at home the birds were familiar, here their cries were startling.
As the moon lifted above the trees, a bright thick crescent in the clear sky, the sounds of the night creatures intensified. Margaret couldn't prevent her heart from lurching at every loud cry, wail or chatter, any more than she could stop her body from flinching and turning looking for the creatures heard rustling through the undergrowth.
I shall never make it to dawn; I'll scare myself to death first. She closed her eyes and strove to find the inner peace she had discovered when all the night air held were crickets and stars. Just as she found the edge of her control, the night went silent and still.
The cool night air stopped flowing, the wind withholding her embrace as silence fell like a curtain over the rough clearing. She marked the progression of time against her racing heart. One heartbeat, then two and three. But the sound echoed in her ears and for a moment it seemed that time itself stood still. Turning towards the others, she saw in the faint glow of the dying fire the pony's hoofed feet drumming the ground in terror. He reared back, snapping his line and raced pell-mell down the road towards the safety of his long distant barn.
Night Lights Page 6
