“Most involve the use of banishing rituals.”
“Most? What do the rest involve?”
“Courage and violence.”
Colvin heaved a deep breath and shook his head. “’Tis an interesting choice of profession for a woman. I take it this is the reason you’re not married?”
“’Tis one of many reasons,” Abigail replied a little more tightly than she intended. She went quiet for a moment, then said, “I want to thank you for trusting me, Mr. Colv—Glenn.” She didn’t know why she had said it, only that she knew it seemed like the right thing to say.
“Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I trust you,” Colvin chuckled. “At least not with my life—not yet. I’m the sort of man who needs to see things for himself before he believes them. So far, all I have is the word of your friend Emmons that you really are capable of the things you say you are.”
Abigail’s golden hair spilled across her shoulder as she sat up and brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her shins. “What can I do to convince you?”
Colvin smoothed his thick, black beard as he thought it over. “I suppose you’d have to show me some proof of this craft of yours.”
“What exactly did you have in mind? Shall I conjure a spirit for the two of us to share a drink with?”
Colvin gave a low chuckle. “Perhaps. Surprise me.”
Abigail’s eyes narrowed and glittered like blue stars in the firelight. “Alright. Gaze into the fire.”
Colvin did as he was instructed, sitting up and crossing his legs Native-style. Abigail took his coarse hand into her own and he seemed to stiffen involuntarily at her touch. She then turned her attention to the fire, focusing on the flames and clearing her mind of all conscious thought. The sounds of the night creatures; the trickling of the river; the scent of the rotting forest deadfall; the feel of the hard ground beneath her—all of it drained away, leaving nothing but a sublime clarity of mind. Only then did Abigail begin her spell.
It started with a chant: low and sibilant with the haunting beauty of a strange and forgotten language. Abigail’s pulse quickened and a rising tingling of power rushed from her veins to her muscles. She welcomed the sensation as if she were being swept into the arms of a lover. The chant went on and she became dimly aware of Colvin’s hand closing tighter around her own as he stared into the small blaze.
Part of Abigail remained conscious of the effect her incantation was having on the man. He was witnessing the flames growing in intensity, going from orange to white, rising higher and higher until they filled his vision with an all-encompassing light. His pulse slowed, the intervals between his heartbeats growing longer and more pronounced as if time itself were slowing down and somehow breaking the thread that kept the beats together. A window opened in the brilliance, small at first but growing larger as Abigail continued her chant. Soon, it was the size of a door, a stark black rectangle cut from the dazzling glare.
Colvin saw himself drawn toward it.
He stepped through.
With a sudden gasp, he snatched his hand from Abigail’s as if a viper had bitten it.
“What did you do?” he demanded breathlessly. His eyes were wide and his heart raced as he looked at her with an expression of mingled shock and horror.
Abigail gazed at him intently. “The flickering of the fire acted as a type of psychomanteum such as those used by the ancient Greeks for scrying. When combined with the hypnotic potency of my incantation, I was able to open a window into your memories.”
Colvin’s easy self-assurance seemed to desert him. His face paled and filled with something like fear. “You saw all that?”
Abigail nodded slowly. “Is that truly how you met Josiah?”
Colvin fixed her with a scathing glare and, for a moment, Abigail was certain he was about to storm away. Instead, he lowered his head and stared at the dirt between his feet.
“I was a trapper then,” he said in a low voice, “trading with the Penobscot up and down their river. I was there the day the soldiers came and burned Josiah’s village to the ground. The land was to be sold to white settlers. I was there—a white man—and I was powerless to stop it. I suppose I’ll carry the weight of my shame until the day I go knocking on hell’s black gates.”
Colvin paused and raised his gaze to the fire. “When it was over, I stayed with the Penobscot to help them relocate to the new land that had been reserved for them. It was then that I met Josiah. He had a wife and newborn son to provide for so we began trapping together. Somehow or other, we ended up as lumberjacks out here.”
“Josiah has a family?”
“Aye. And it pains him every day that they’re apart. There’s a good enough reason why he’s out here, though. He might be an Indian but the company pays him a decent salary to serve as our guide. Eventually, he’ll put enough away to buy his family a portion of company land out here, far from their miserable reservation.” Colvin sighed heavily and shrugged. “I expect he may one day put his tomahawk in my back for not defending his people that day when the soldiers came. If you ask me, he’d have every right to.”
For a long moment, Colvin remained quiet and brooding. His deep, amber eyes were molten with firelight as he gazed into the flames. When he finally spoke again, his voice was thick and husky. “Why would you do that? Why would you trespass on my memories like that?”
“Because I wanted to determine what kind of man you are. You desired to know if you could trust me; I felt I was entitled to the same.”
“And? Are you satisfied with what you discovered?”
“Quite.”
Without another word, Colvin stood and stalked away with Timber trailing at his heels. Abigail heard rustling in the darkness as he crawled into his tent and left her with the fire and the first watch.
Chapter 23
It was after midnight and Abigail had long been relieved of her watch when she heard the noise from beyond her tent. The forest had gone deathly quiet and the sound was so distinct, it woke her to instant alertness.
Something was moving out in the woods.
Abigail stayed very still in her bedroll, listening for the telltale rustling of underbrush to come again.
Nothing.
Whatever it was had gone silent.
She had heard it, though. Of that, she was certain. She wondered who was watch. Josiah? Keenan? Could either of them be moving around out there? No. Whatever it was had been slow and deliberate. It had moved and prowled like a predator lurking in the night.
Abigail’s blood quickened as she slid soundlessly from her bedroll and fumbled in the darkness for the flint to light her lantern. The blackness in the tent was absolute and she couldn’t see her hand groping around in front of her.
Suddenly, she heard it again: a twig snapping under a heavy weight; the sharp clack of a shifting rock; a brief swishing of fallen leaves across the forest floor.
And then silence.
Abigail’s heart fired up. Her muscles tensed as her body readied itself for a fight. The sounds had come from somewhere maybe thirty yards from their camp. Had anyone else heard it? Who was on watch and what were they doing? Abigail’s hands located her leather boots and she quietly pulled them on.
A heart-stopping outburst shattered the silence.
Timber was barking furiously.
Abigail cast the canvas flap aside and hurried out into the cold. By the dying glow of the campfire embers, she could make out the shadowy forms of the other men emerging from their own tents. Colvin had his pistol drawn. His other hand was clamped firmly on the scruff of Timber’s neck, holding the dog back as he barked madly into the darkness. Timber’s hackles were raised high and his ears were flattened against his skull. His tail was pointed straight and his lips curled back over his fangs. Whatever was lurking out in the forest had driven the dog into a vicious fury.
Keenan and Josiah stood to either side of Colvin. The Irishman had his timber axe gripped tightly with both hands. Even in the dim
light, Abigail could see his round face was hard with tension. Josiah had the butt of his rifle locked into his shoulder, the long barrel aimed straight ahead into the blackness. One eye was closed, the other squinted down the sight.
O’Brennan was nowhere to be seen.
“What is happening?” Abigail whispered, loud enough to be heard over the sharp staccato of Timber’s relentless barking.
Colvin held a hand up to silence her. His breathing appeared as furtive puffs of white in the cold air as he remained immobile, straining to see into the black void of the forest. His reply was low and tense. “Bear.”
A nervous tension settled into Abigail’s gut.
“We think it’s a female,” Keenan whispered. “O’Brennan was on watch when he heard her. He went out there to check on the food.”
“What should we do?”
“We wait,” came Colvin’s curt reply. “She may have cubs. If we scare her any more than we already have, she’ll take our noise as a threat and try to defend them. If we’re lucky, she’ll just move on.”
“What if the dog’s already frightened her?”
Colvin frowned. “Then we may have a bear to kill.”
Abigail fell quiet. Her heartbeat counted the seconds in silence as they waited anxiously.
Nothing.
Minutes passed until Keenan finally leaned over to Colvin and whispered, “He’s been gone too long. Do you think we—”
All at once, there came a deafening explosion and a brilliant blast of sparks from deep in the forest. For a split second, the bright muzzle-flash of O’Brennan’s sudden pistol shot chased away the blackness. Abigail glimpsed something black and massive moving among the trees before the darkness rushed back in and devoured everything. Blinking away her blindness after the dazzling flare of gunfire, she heard something huge crash through the underbrush.
It was close—very close.
There was a terrible, bestial roar; a cry of panic; O’Brennan’s footsteps running frantically, not making it far. Another cry—this one of pain and terror. It rose to a shrill scream before it withered abruptly into a horrible liquid gurgling.
“O’Brennan!” Colvin’s bellow broke the awful spell of the moment. He released Timber and the dog shot forward, snarling and yapping as he vanished into the darkness. Colvin charged after him without a second thought, brandishing his pistol.
Keenan hefted his axe and made a move to follow but Josiah shoved him back. “Stay with her,” he grunted before whirling and barreling after Colvin.
Abigail was on the move before Keenan knew it. Diving into her tent, she snatched her lantern. From the forest there came a frenzy of snarls and roars as Timber collided with the bear. Abigail could hear Colvin shouting wildly above the pandemonium as she dashed to the smoldering remnants of the campfire. Raising the lantern over her head, she brought it crashing down, shattering the glass chimney and spilling whale oil across the coals. Flames shot up instantly with a tremendous whoosh of igniting air.
The scene illuminated by the orange blaze was enough to make her freeze where she stood.
Timber and the black bear were locked in deadly combat less than thirty yards away. The raging beast was enormous, rising at least seven feet tall as it reared up to swat at the dog with its long, sharp claws. Its muzzle was peeled back, revealing the gaping pink and yellow of its fanged maw.
Timber dodged and skirted the bear’s vicious blows and snapping jaws. Spit flew from the dog’s snarling mouth as he attacked the giant beast from behind where it was most vulnerable. The enraged bear whirled with a ferocious roar and caught the dog with a powerful swipe of its massive paw. Timber gave a sharp yelp as he went slewing through the underbrush. Recovering, he rolled instantly back to all fours, crouched low and ready to leap.
The brief window was all Colvin needed. He pulled the trigger and his pistol erupted. The shot caught the bear above the left shoulder and sent a spray of blood into the air. The giant animal staggered and slumped slightly but it didn’t go down. The wound only further infuriated it. Its brown eyes blazed as it reared up and let out a thundering roar.
It charged with astonishing speed.
Timber leaped for the beast but fell short and rolled to the side. The bear was almost upon Colvin before the dog could recover. There was no time to react. Colvin knew there was no sense in running and his spent pistol was useless. All he had to defend himself were his knife and his fists. Keenan was charging at the animal, axe raised, but he would never get to it in time. Colvin had only seconds to brace himself for the bear’s assault. His breath caught in his throat as the beast bared its monstrous fangs and went in for the kill.
An ear-splitting blast split the night and the side of the bear’s head exploded. A shower of blood and brains went flying as if a charge of gunpowder had detonated inside the animal’s skull. Thrown sideways by the blast, the bear’s wild rush came to a skidding halt. Momentum carried it another two staggering steps to the side before it teetered and collapsed in a dead heap.
The echo of the thundering gunshot still rebounded off the trees. From her place near the fire, Abigail let the air out of her lungs and looked to where Josiah was lowering his rifle. A tendril of acrid smoke rose from its muzzle as he gazed at the dead bear with his inscrutable black eyes.
“O’Brennan!” Colvin was rushing headlong through the woods now, frantically combing the area for the missing lumberjack. Abigail seized a burning limb from the fire and darted after him with Keenan following close behind.
O’Brennan’s body lay sprawled across a trampled thicket. His neck was broken and his head was twisted at a grotesque angle. His jaw had been torn loose by a swipe of the bear’s powerful claw and now hung low like a ghastly necklace around his throat.
Keenan let out a devastated wail and crumpled to his knees next to his dead friend. Abigail stood in shocked silence as Colvin went to him. The light cast by her torch made her feel as if she was intruding on the moment like some ghoulish voyeur. This heart-wrenching display of raw emotion wasn’t meant for her. She suddenly wished she could douse her flame and vanish. Instead, she turned and walked away, leaving the men to grieve unseen in the darkness.
She found Josiah down on one knee next to the bear’s lifeless bulk. She hung back as he placed a reverent hand on the shattered remnants of the animal’s sleek black head and murmured something into the bear’s unhearing ear. The gesture had the semblance of an act of contrition, as if he were quietly asking the animal for forgiveness.
Only then did the reality of what had just happened begin to settle in for Abigail: O’Brennan was dead. It didn’t seem possible; the bear’s attack had been too sudden, too savagely violent to be real. She had a flash of O’Brennan’s mauled face. Had he looked surprised? Abigail knew he couldn’t have—the facial muscles would have relaxed in death—but that was how she now remembered him: surprised.
Josiah was looking up at her from the bear’s side. His expression had lost some of its usual passivity and was now dark and brooding. “Sanoba,” he grunted in his own language, motioning to the black carcass. “Male.”
“Why does that trouble you, River Stone?”
Josiah rose to his feet. “Bear like this do not hunt man.”
“This one certainly did,” Abigail remarked bitterly. “You saw how it went after O’Brennan, stalking him in the darkness.”
Josiah gave a sober nod. “Yes. This sanoba had no fear of man. This bear wanted to feed.” His expression became dour. Behind him, the fire was dwindling again and the shadows were already reclaiming their kingdom. “Something has gone wrong with nature, Medicine Lady.”
Chapter 24
They buried O’Brennan in a shallow grave at first light. Keenan stood weeping in stony silence with tears running down his ruddy face while Colvin muddled his way through a eulogy. The sun never really rose that morning; the sky just went from black to gray. More rain was on its way. No one had slept after the bear attack and their gear was packed and ready.
Timber lay curled by the fire, licking dried blood from his black fur while the others paid their respects to O’Brennan.
Josiah smoked his tobacco pipe and waited until the meager funeral was over. He then took Keenan’s axe, went to the bear’s carcass and with one mighty swing, chopped off the animal’s right front paw. Slipping the huge, clawed limb into a burlap sack, he cinched the drawstring tight over his animal fetish and led the way into the forest.
They arrived at North Camp by mid-afternoon. It was a dismal site made all the more unwelcoming by a cold breeze sweeping off the mountains to the north. The tiny outpost consisted of four timber shacks clustered within a small, flat glade. It was the perfect image of what Abigail had imagined a logging camp to be: primitive, joyless, and uninviting.
Colvin drew to an abrupt halt as they emerged from the path. His eyes narrowed as he gazed across the clearing at the ramshackle buildings. “Something’s wrong,” he murmured.
“What is it?” Abigail asked.
“Listen.”
Abigail went silent and strained her ears. “I hear nothing.”
Colvin nodded slowly. “Over a dozen men should be felling trees less than a quarter mile upriver. We should be hearing the echoes of their axes as clear as our own voices. And yet...” He pointed a finger into the air.
The only sounds that came to them were the soft swish of the trees in the breeze and the running trickle of the nearby river. From time to time, a loose piece of stovepipe chimney would get caught by the wind and let out a rusty wail. Otherwise, the camp was imbued with the eerie stillness of a place abandoned.
Colvin stood listening a moment longer, his face growing stormier. “Come on,” he said, and started toward one of the larger shacks. Throwing the door open, he led the way into the camp’s mess hall. It was dingy and dank, lit only by single windows at each end. Long, crude tables stood to either side, accompanied by timber benches. Each tabletop bore a haphazard stack of tin plates and utensils. The rear of the building was dedicated to the pitiful kitchen. A sad, coal-fired stove; a rusty washbasin; a crooked larder. Nothing more. The walls were bare timber and there was a stale scent of mildew in the air.
The Suicide Lake (Book of Shadows 2) Page 13
