“I don’t know,” he said finally, although in truth he saw many things. An open mouth spoke soundless words to him. A misshapen face that could be part of a horse’s head became more terrifying and repulsive as he looked at it. A single dark eye stared back at him from the lower left-hand corner. He recognized a piece of mane and a lone hoof, both seeming to move before his eyes. There were muscleless jaws, open and dripping. There were many more, human and animal and those he did not know. All were hidden within the drawing but easy to find if one wanted to see them.
“Koví exists in many forms,” the captain said, his mouth twisting in a smile. “His description has varied from generation to generation.”
Alec turned from the drawing to stare blankly at the captain.
“There is a humpbacked hammock just to the southwest of here, and according to the records, that is the home of Koví,” the captain continued. “I have been there with Odin during the day. The way is not easy, but much of the area has been drained by the new canals and thereby made accessible by foot. That, too, is one of the signs which I cannot ignore.”
Alec shuddered, finding it hard to comprehend that the captain believed so strongly in his omens and signs that he would risk his life in pursuing them. His fate, as Alec saw it, lay in his ability not to get lost in the saw-grass wilderness or founder in the black bottomless muck.
“And you believe you will find Koví there?” he asked incredulously.
The captain shrugged his shoulders. “I do not know,” he said quietly. “I know only that the signs point that way and I will go.”
There was total resignation in the captain’s voice, and for the first time Alec felt sympathy for him.
“But if Koví is as dangerous as you believe him to be, won’t that mean your death, too?” he asked. He didn’t know if he was humoring the captain or if he really wanted to hear the rest of this incredible story of a man’s quest for a supernatural being!
“I cannot believe that I was led all this way to die,” the captain said. “If that were true, I would know. But even if I were given such an ominous sign, I would not turn back or change my plans. It is not possible to avoid disaster if it is to come.”
Alec turned away, unable to look at the man any longer. He had no doubt that the captain believed every word he said. The captain cherished his bondage to the dark world of mystery and superstition he had believed in since he was a child, as his people had before him. To anyone else the story of Koví was incredible, but to the captain it was true. He would pursue his quest until the end.
Alec remained in his seat while the captain gathered up the papers and returned them to the trunk. The end of the captain’s search for Koví would come from the natural dangers of the swamp, which punished invaders quickly when mistakes were made.
Alec rose to his feet, wondering if he would be able to break free of the captain’s dark world even in the morning. He now had no doubt that he shared the company of a man not completely sane. There was no other answer to all this, regardless of what sense he had tried to make out of it before.
“If you don’t mind, Captain,” he said, “I’ll go to bed. I’m tired and I want to get an early start in the morning.”
The man turned to him, his eyes searching. “Certainly I have no objection,” he said kindly. “It has been a long day for you, and I have spoken of too many things that have bewildered you. Bonsoir, Alec. We will see each other in the morning.”
“Good night,” Alec said. As tired as he was, he knew it would be a long time before he slept, if sleep came at all. At least he would rest while awaiting the first light of dawn.
NIGHTMARE!
9
Alec stood before the open window of his second-floor bedroom and stared into the night. It was a beautiful evening with a gigantic span of sky spread before him and a full moon just beginning to rise above the saw grass. To the southwest he could see the high humpbacked outline of a hammock which he believed was the captain’s objective, the home of Koví.
Certainly he did not believe any part of such a fantastic story! Yet he knew that his own vivid imagination made him very vulnerable to the captain’s ramblings.
He turned his mind to other thoughts, knowing he’d get no sleep otherwise. The seemingly endless miles of saw grass glistened beneath the star-spangled sky. He saw many hammocks studding the swamp, like islands in a watery wilderness. He stared at the moon and was conscious of the stillness. Such a world belonged more to night than to day, he decided. It was almost like being alone in the universe.
Here in the Everglades, nature would forever triumph over man, regardless of how many drainage ditches were dug. The swamp was vast and confident in its solitude.
Alec wondered why he had been frightened by the swamp during the day but not at night. Perhaps it was the great silence, that and the deep peace that seemed to accompany it. He listened. Any sound would carry miles with bell-like clarity on such a night. But he heard nothing, no shrill cries of distant birds or receding echoes. He was alone, the vast swampland calmly ignoring his presence or, perhaps, accepting him as a friend.
He believed he would be able to sleep. Leaving the window, he went to his bed and stretched out on it, fully clothed. He closed his eyes and kept his thoughts on the great silence outside the window, waiting for sleep to come. It had been a long, hard day and he was very tired.
He didn’t know how long he lay there or, actually, whether or not he had slept, when he saw a pair of eyes staring at him in the darkness. They were startlingly cold and dark—like obsidian. He believed it was the captain and asked quickly, “What are you doing here?”
He attempted to get up but found he could not rise from the bed. He struggled but could not move. It was then he realized that he must be asleep and dreaming. But no dream had ever been so vivid to him before.
He began struggling again and found he was able to wiggle his body across the bed but not rise from it. Nor could he tear his gaze away from the eyes that held him. He believed there was a living presence in the room with him but he did not know whether it was the captain or not. He wanted only to rise and run, yet he could not. And try as he might, he could not wake up to rid himself of the horrible dream.
He opened his mouth but nothing came forth although he shouted as loud as he could. He continued struggling, working his body from one end of the bed to the other in an attempt to rouse himself from his dream. Always the eyes followed him, moving with him, holding him.
He was able to think with a clarity he had not thought possible in a dream. He believed his subconscious was playing tricks on him, recalling in his sleep the captain’s unwavering hypnotic stare. He ceased struggling and sought to make out the face behind the eyes. He lay very still.
He stared into the depth of the darkness. An image of terror was vague but there! He made out a misshapen head with no distinguishable features, known yet unknown. He believed that the horror which had seemed a dream was not a dream but reality! The thought brought superhuman strength to his limbs and he tried to break the invisible bonds that held him to the bed while the misshapen head hovered directly above him. His lips moved but no sound came. A sweet, sickening odor filled his nostrils. He threw back his head, gasping from the overpowering scent and his efforts to break away. He twisted, squirmed, seeking escape.
Madness possessed him and he found that he had the strength to heave his body forward. His eyes bulged in their sockets as he sought to raise his hands from the bedsheets to strike back at whatever was above him. He succeeded in lifting his hands and, fighting for breath, tried to protect himself. Words poured forth from his lips for the first time. He did not know what he was saying, nor did he recognize his voice, which was distorted and unnatural. His hands sought to seize the fleshless face!
Suddenly, as if he had broken through a ghostly barrier, he was wide awake. The bedsheets were wringing wet and his breath came in great gasps as he gulped air into his lungs. He was alone in the room. The moonligh
t made it bright enough to enable him to see that no one was there.
He went to the washbasin and doused his head in cold water. There had been nothing, he told himself savagely.
It had been a dream, prompted by the stories of a man who believed in the supernatural. He had succumbed to them in his sleep, his own imagination giving way to what he had been told. It was an experience he never wanted to go through again.
Everyone dreamed, he told himself, and this one had been a nightmare to end all nightmares.
The room darkened as a cloud passed over the moon. He went to the window and looked out across the saw grass. A chill swept over him, which he attributed to the sudden cooling of the night and not to his fear. The moon emerged and once more the room was filled with ghostly light.
There was nothing to fear from a dream, even a nightmare, he told himself. Yet his heart continued thudding against his chest as he attempted to bring order to his thoughts.
Judging by the height of the moon, he had been asleep all of two hours. He had seen the frightening image in his dream because of the captain’s story of Koví and the horrible drawing. It made little difference whether or not he believed in Koví, he told himself. Known or unknown, real or not real, the monster now lived in his subconscious.
Alec’s heart thudded faster as he accepted this fact. He remained at the window, not wanting to go to bed lest he dream again. He wondered if it were possible to die of fear caused by a dream. Quickly he rid himself of such a thought by dousing his head in water again. He would remain awake the rest of the night. Tomorrow and during the days that followed, when normal life resumed, he would forget Koví. It would be as if this night had never been.
Meanwhile he sought inner peace and comfort from the tranquility of the swamp. The skies were clear and for a long while Alec listened to the stillness of the night. He felt absolutely alone in the world. There came to him the gentle sound of a breeze stirring the palm fronds and water.
His heart resumed its normal beat. Taut muscles relaxed. He responded to his freedom from the nightmare by walking across the room and back. Suddenly he came to a stop before the window again, every sense alert.
He had heard a sound outside. It was not the lapping of the water or the stirring of a palm frond. It was the soft stealth of moving feet, not those of an animal but a man!
His keen eyes searched the darkness for movement that would betray another’s presence. A moment passed, then a black silhouette stepped around the corner of the house into the moonlight. The figure stood still, legs astride. Was it Odin returning from the Indian village? The silhouette was too large and tall for him, more the size of the captain, Alec decided.
He waited for the figure to move, hoping the man would pass beneath his window so he might see him better. Finally the figure strode silently by and Alec had no trouble recognizing the captain.
Alec stepped back from the window. He had no intention of leaving the room. He cared nothing about what the captain did at night; it was no concern of his. The captain might well be off to his eternal quest of Koví. It made no difference. He would remain in the bedroom until dawn.
It was only as the moments passed that Alec’s resolution wavered. He wondered if he might not be doing exactly what the captain had planned. What if the captain’s story of Koví had been only a hoax to frighten him into keeping to his room, asleep or not? The captain coveted the Black for his mare. Perhaps he had no intention of waiting until the end of the racing season to breed his mare as had been agreed, not when he had the opportunity to do it now!
Distant, muffled snorts reached Alec’s ears and he went quickly to the door, his decision made. A cold anger swept over him as he ran down the stairs. The captain took what he wanted; he was as remorseless as he was powerful; he would stop at nothing to breed his mare to the Black!
Alec opened the front door and sped down the porch steps into the night. He ran across the yard, knowing what he had to do. No hands would touch the Black but his own. This he would fight for, regardless of the odds against him.
There was no caution to his movements as he approached the barn. He heard the Black’s shrill neigh, meant clearly for the mare, and he knew he was too late.
THE FIGHT
10
Alec stopped at the barn. The horses were behind it and not far away. At first he was aware only of the beauty of the blending of their bodies, coal-black and silver-gray. They were a tableau in the shimmering light of the moon. The mare was tied to the fence and stood absolutely still, almost as if frozen by the arrogance of the Black, who was alongside her, his tail held high and neck arched mightily. His small head was thrust out to hers and she squealed excitedly in answer to his panting snorts. He bit her lightly on the neck, and when she retaliated by striking out at him with her hind legs, he skillfully jumped away, then immediately closed in on her again. It was a game he knew well, one of a mare testing a stallion’s strength before final acquiescence.
Only then did Alec become fully aware of the captain and what he was doing. He had the Black by the long shank chain and was attempting to curb the stallion’s excitement by yanking it repeatedly. He shouted something in French at the top of his voice. Then, as if suddenly realizing his commands were not in the language the stallion understood, he shouted in English, “Back! When I say back, you back!”
The stallion screamed in rage and pain but continued to ignore the man for the waiting mare. His consuming interest was in her despite the captain’s efforts. He plunged toward her again and bit her more threateningly, low on the neck and in front of the withers. He held on to her this time, whirling her around again and again until she stood quietly before him. He could be as rough as required, but gentle as well. He began licking her wounds.
Suddenly the sharp, agonizing pain in his mouth was more than he could bear. He went back on his hind legs, seeking relief.
Alec ran across the clearing, knowing the captain had the shank chain under the stallion’s lips and across his gums, the snap attached to the halter ring on the far side. If he didn’t stop the captain, the Black in his pain and frenzy would kill him!
The stallion had turned his attention from the mare to strike savagely at the man who was causing him so much pain. But the captain moved fast, escaping the intended blow; then he began using the powerful leverage in his hands to its utmost. Repeatedly he pulled down the shank with all his strength. The Black went back on his haunches in an effort to escape the pain of the chain cutting viciously into his gums.
“Assez! Ça suffit! Enough!” the captain screamed at the stallion while backing him with terrible force. “You are a devil! You do not treat her this way! You go forward when I say you do, not before!” Relentlessly he jerked downward on the shank until the Black was almost falling over himself in an attempt to get away.
Alec’s headlong rush brought him up behind the captain. He hurled himself upon the man’s back, seeking to pin his arms to his side and prevent him from using the shank. For a few seconds he held on, his onslaught coming as a complete surprise to the captain. He sought to topple the great body clasped in his arms by throwing his own weight to one side as leverage. He managed to bring the captain to one knee, but suddenly the man straightened and swung upward and back with all his strength.
Alec knew immediately that he was no match for this man in deadly combat. He was hurled to one side and around. He held on to the bulging neck while being whirled like a pinwheel; then a large hand caught him by the shoulder, and the other hand, clenched into a fist, smashed against the side of his head. He fell hard upon the ground.
Instantly there was the taste of blood in his mouth. He didn’t quite lose consciousness, for he could hear shouts from the captain and squeals from the Black. The blood seemed never-ending and he choked upon it. Dazedly he found himself wondering if one could drown in his own blood.
He fought to maintain consciousness. His vision was blurred but he could make out the captain’s figure as the man sought t
o regain control of the Black. The stallion was plunging toward him, squealing and pawing.
The captain avoided the flying hoofs and tried to stop the horse. He jerked on the shank chain but his move came an instant too late. The horse rose above him, standing straight up on his hind legs. The captain dodged quickly to one side, avoiding the striking forelegs again, but only by a few scant inches. His fear mounted. He pulled forcefully on the shank, trying to knock the stallion off balance. He was in time, for the horse screamed in pain. Confident that he had won, the captain yanked harder to bring the pawing forelegs to the ground.
The black stallion moved quickly, walking on his hind legs while his forelegs continued to strike. The captain backed off, suddenly terrified by the plunging horse who would not be beaten despite all he could do! Dropping the lead shank, he screamed a torrent of French and ran for the safety of the barn.
A moment later, the Black moved to Alec’s prone figure, his head lowered to it. His blown-out nostrils sniffed the blood and he shied clear, uncertain and troubled.
Alec tried to speak to his horse but his head was throbbing with pain and the blood that filled his throat caused a choking nausea. He was unable to utter a word, even a whisper. He tried to clear his throat but his efforts only caused the growing blackness to envelop him all the more. He lay still again, not wanting to lose total consciousness.
As if in a dream, he saw the Black return to the mare. Again their bodies blended into one. He could hear her sharp squeals and the lashing of her hoofs. There was a quick whirling of their bodies, and then, suddenly, the night became still. He could hear nothing, see nothing. The blackness was complete. Alec had lost consciousness.
The captain searched the barn looking for any weapons he might use against the stallion. A leather riding whip hung on a peg in the entryway. He took it. He had forgotten where he’d left the long-handled pitchfork, and it was several minutes before he finally found it. He was determined to protect his mare as well as himself from the onslaught of the most savage horse he had ever come across. He had judged wrong; this was no horse to be bred to his mare. The black stud was the devil himself!
The Black Stallion's Ghost Page 8
