Embrace the Twilight (2 page)

 

A hand clasped him by his hair and jerked his head out of the tub of frigid water. Will dragged in a desperate, hungry breath, before that hand shoved his head into the tub again, holding him under.

His hands were bound together behind his back, his legs bound at the ankles. His body screamed with pain, pain he had managed to escape only moments before. But all that dulled beside the stabbing need in his lungs as they spasmed in search of air. Small red explosions danced behind his tightly closed eyes. He was going to pass out, and then he would drown.

The hand jerked him out of the water again, and even as Will sucked in greedy, noisy breaths, slammed him down into a small, ladder-back chair.

Water ran from his hair and face, soaking his ragged, filthy shirt.

A bearded man wearing a spotless white headdress lifted Will's chin and stared down at him, then spoke to one of the guards, using one of the tribal dialects in which Will was fluent, though he had managed to keep that fact from them…thus far.

“He has returned to his body. You may resume the torture now.”

“Why should we waste our time? He will only leave again when the pain becomes too much for him. How does he do it? Where does he go?”

The first man shrugged, crossing the floor of the cave to where a fire had been burning earlier. It was now a bed of glowing coals. They'd placed long iron rods in the embers, and it was one of these the man pulled out, using a piece of fabric as a makeshift pot holder. The hotter end was neon-orange and reminded Will of the beer sign hanging in his favorite bar back home.

“Now, Colonel Stone,” the man said, speaking heavily accented English. “You will tell me what I wish to know.”

“I've told you already,” he said softly, though it hurt like hell to talk, because of his split, swollen lips and the dryness of his throat. “There are no American spies in your training camps.”

There were, actually. There were thirteen, to be exact, and Will knew who they were, what names they were using and what camps they had infiltrated. They would have received word of his capture by now. They would remember their training, and they would know exactly what to do, where to go, when to meet there for extraction. It would take them another forty-eight hours to get out of harm's way, he thought. Judging the passage of time was tricky, given the circumstances.

He had to hold out until the men were safely out of the country.

“If there are no spies, then how do the Americans always seem to know our plans?”

Will didn't shrug. The movement would have hurt too much. “Technology?”

The man laid the cherry-red end of the iron flat across Will's chest. The pain was beyond bearing, and he tipped his head back and grated his teeth against it, while the smell of his own burning flesh choked him.

Even when the rod was lifted away, the pain remained. Burning, scorching pain deep inside him. He closed his eyes, tried to find that place inside his mind where he'd been hiding before. That place where the pain couldn't reach him. He saw the woman, standing far in the distant reaches of his subconscious. Sarafina, the dark, exotic fantasy woman who lived out her tales in his mind so vividly that she swept him away from the torture, the pain.

He'd stumbled upon her quite by accident, when they had beaten him nearly unconscious. He'd been hovering on the edge of oblivion when he'd seen her in his mind's eye. Just her eyes, glowing black eyes. He found himself focusing on those eyes, getting caught in them, sinking slowly into their black-water depths, into darkness. He'd felt himself sinking deeper, and as he did, the pain vanished. Once it fell away behind him, he emerged on the other side, in some other place and time, as a silent, invisible observer of the woman's life.

Ever since that first time, he'd found he could use the pain to find that place again. The trick was to just give himself over to the agony, not to fight it, but to embrace it. And then he would close his eyes and search for hers. All he had to do was find her eyes, stare into them, and he would sink again into her world, where the pain couldn't reach him.

She was pure fantasy, as was her story. He knew that. But she was also his salvation. And the salvation of those thirteen Americans who would be tortured to death unless he kept their names secret.

So he closed his eyes as they placed the hot brands on his skin. He relaxed his jaw and tried not to fight the pain. He let the pain drive him closer to her, closer, until she turned and faced him. Her eyes opened wide as he fixed his upon them and rushed willingly into their cool black depths. Then he was completely immersed, having left his body far, far behind. He swam, every stroke taking him farther. And he wondered if one of these times his captors would do him the favor of simply killing him, so that he could remain in that other place. But would it remain, opening, welcoming him inside? His own custom-imagined heaven? Or would it vanish as his brain cells slowly died?

At this point, he wasn't certain he cared.

F
or only a moment, Sarafina felt an alien presence in her mind. As if someone else, someone unseen, were watching her. Watching
over
her.

Many times she had felt this unknown presence. Many times. She sensed him—and yes, she knew he was male, though how she knew, she could not have said. He
felt
male. He was protective of her. He filled her with warmth and a sensation of security. As if there were one all-powerful spirit in the entire world, and its only job was to take care of her. Love her. Watch over her.

She thought of him as her guardian. Her guide. And each time he came, she thought she came a bit closer to being able to see him, speak to him, touch him. She'd heard him this time—very briefly, but clearly.

She tried to focus on her beloved spirit, but he seemed to withdraw. Fina sighed in stark disappointment before shaking away the feeling, and hurrying to join the others, who were already racing into the woods, toward the sound of the horrible screams. Like her, most of them knew already what they would find.

She was the fastest runner, despite her ill health of late. More than that, she knew exactly where to go. How she knew, she could not have said. Some dark instinct led her, and she didn't question it. She was a gifted diviner and a
Shuvani.
Knowing things she oughtn't know was a part of that. So she quickly caught up to the tribe, then broke off from them, veering through the woods at an angle that led her unerringly to the spot.

She came upon the two of them moments before anyone else. Melina, an old woman, a cousin of Sarafina's dead mother, crouched on the ground, her body bent over that of her teenage daughter, Belinda. A torch lay on the ground beside them, its flame struggling to survive. Sarafina picked it up to better see the old woman rocking and weeping, and the young one lying so utterly still. By the light of the torch, Belinda's slender arms and her face were as white as snow, and her eyes were open wide but already bore the unmistakable glaze of death.

Placing a hand on Melina's shuddering back, Sarafina said, “Come, rise up away from her. She is gone from this world now.”

Sobbing, the woman straightened her back, lifted her head and wailed in anguish as tears streamed over her weathered face. “My Belinda is dead, killed by a demon!”

“Come.” The others were arriving now, drawn by her cries, many of them bearing torches of their own. Sarafina helped the old woman to her feet, hugged her close and looked over her quivering shoulder, down at Belinda. She had been more than a cousin. She had been a friend. Lifting her torch higher, Sarafina let her gaze skim the girl's pale throat, until she saw what she had known she would see. Two small wounds, scarlet ribbons of blood trailing from each of them.

Something deep inside her stirred, as if waking from a long slumber. She couldn't take her eyes from the wounds, and involuntarily, she licked her lips.

“It's happened again,” a man said. It was Andre, standing near her. Katerina was right beside him, watching her sister with narrow eyes. Had she noticed Sarafina's odd reaction to the scent of fresh blood?

She forced herself not to look at the body again, nor at the two wounds in its throat. But the scent of the kill made her nostrils flare and her stomach clench into a hungry knot. Sickening. She detested her body for reacting this way yet again.

And just like the other times, she could sense the creature that had done this. It was near, she realized suddenly, and she shot her glance toward the edges of the gathered group, where small children with huge, frightened eyes clung to their mothers' skirts.

“Get the children away from here,” she whispered, pointing at the little ones.

The most respected man in the tribe, the Chieftain, Gervaise, looked at her, crooking a dark brow. “Sarafina?”

“It's here,” she told him, her voice dropping to a bare whisper. “It is still here, I tell you. Gervaise, get the children away.”

There was no hesitation. Gervaise gave a nod, and nearly everyone obeyed, turning to hurry back toward camp, all of them gathering the children close as they went. Several of the young men remained, including Andre. Katerina stayed, as well.

“Set guards around the camp,” Gervaise said to the young men who stood awaiting his word. “Put others to work building the coffin. Two of you, go fetch weapons and come back here. This spot shall be guarded until dawn.” The men rushed off to obey.

“How did you know?” Katerina whispered.

Sarafina trembled at the tone of her sister's voice. She
had
noticed. She'd noticed Sarafina being the first to arrive, and she'd noticed her reaction to the sight of the demon's kill—neither one for the first time. “How did you
not
know?” Sarafina asked her. “You're supposed to be a seer, like me.”

“Unlike you, I have no bond to demons.”

“Do not accuse me, sister. You know nothing of this.”

“It's the same as the other times,” Andre said, rising slowly from Belinda's body. He'd examined the wounds, all without touching the corpse. Then he glanced at the weeping old mother. “I am so very sorry, Melina.”

“The demon has found us again. We must bury her quickly and move on,” someone said.

“What good will it do?” Katerina asked. “It will only pursue us, find us again, just as it has ever since our tribe was cursed by the birth of my dear little sister.”

Melina gasped, and Gervaise frowned deeply. Andre put his hand on Katerina's shoulder. “This is not the time—”

“You all must know it's true! The first time this demon took one of our people was the summer Sarafina was born. I've studied on this, consulted the spirits. Every sign, every omen, tells me she is somehow bound to the creature that stalks us. She's the reason it plagues us so.”

“That's madness!” Sarafina shouted. She looked at the faces around her, the speculation in them as they studied her.

“You knew it was near,” Katerina said. “You
always
seem to know.”

“I am a seer.”

“It attacks only by night. You, more and more, are becoming a creature of the night yourself. Up until all hours, sleeping long into the day.” Her gaze swept the others. “You've all seen it.”

Melina nodded her head in agreement. “It's true.”

“I sleep when I'm sleepy,” Sarafina said softly. “That does not mean I am in league with this creature.”

Katerina looked around her, perhaps saw the doubt of her accusations in some of those faces, and shrugged. “If it isn't you the demon follows so persistently, then I say we should put it to the test.”

Frowning, Sarafina searched her sister's face, her eyes, for some clue what she was up to. “Test?”

“Leave us. Leave the tribe. Stay behind this time while the rest of us move on. If the demon follows again, even without you among us, that will be proof of your innocence.”

Andre stepped forward, putting a protective arm around Sarafina's shoulders. “I won't permit it, Katerina.”

“Nor will I,” said Gervaise. He studied Sarafina's face, leaning heavily on his staff, his back bowed and his once jet hair long since gone to silver. “We are all frightened and aggrieved at the loss of Belinda. But turning against one another is not the answer. We must not let this evil divide us.”

Now everyone present was nodding, including the two young men who had returned from the camp with rifles. Everyone except for Katerina.

Gervaise fixed his stern gaze on the two sisters. “You two will prepare Belinda for burial.”

Katerina paled visibly. Sarafina felt her own blood run cold at the prospect and blurted, “Surely you can hire a pair of
gorgios—
”

“You two will do it.”

“With respect, Gervaise,” Katerina said, “my home and all my possessions have burned in a fire caused by my sister's carelessness. I must see to it that I have shelter tonight.”

Gervaise crooked a brow and rubbed his chin in thought. He truly was the wisest man in the village, but he was unused to having his commands questioned. “You, Katerina, will share your sister's shelter and her possessions. It is high time the two of you learned the meaning of family.” Then he glanced at Belinda, and his voice softened to a mere whisper. “Do neither of you understand the role you play? Your mother is dead, and, since last summer, your grandmother, too. You are the seers. And you are the
Shuvani.
”

Melina shook her head. “I said from the start, they are too young to be the tribe's wise women.”

“They are all we have.” Gervaise patted her gently before refocusing on the two sisters. “Now do your duty to Belinda. She lies dead while you fuss and fight. Do not shame us.” He glanced at them. “Belinda is trapped between the worlds. You know what must be done?”

“I know,” Sarafina said softly. She glanced at her sister. “Gather sticks,” she said. “We'll need a small fire.”

 

Gervaise set the young men a few paces away on either side, close enough to guard the women while they worked over the body, but far enough away to give them the privacy that was necessary for the rite. Katerina had taken Melina back to camp, to set her to work gathering the clothes with which Belinda would be buried. While she was gone, Sarafina arranged twigs and sticks carefully on the ground beside her cousin, but not too close.

Katerina returned, three bundles of dried herbs in her hands. She handed her sister a bit of each. “Are we ready to begin?” she asked.

Sarafina nodded, and lowered her torch to the pile of twigs and sticks. It caught on the first try, a very good omen. The flames spread rapidly. Fina jammed the torch into a notch in a nearby tree.

“First the thyme,” she said, and they each tossed a handful of the herb into the fire.

“Next the sage,” Katerina whispered. “And last the rosemary.”

They cast the remaining herbs into the fire in the correct order, then began to walk backward and countersunwise around it as fragrant drafts of smoke billowed to the heavens. “Belinda Rosemerta Prastika,” they whispered together. They walked round the fire, round the body, and increased their pace, chanting the name of their cousin over and over, a little louder each time. Seven times around the fire they went, and Sarafina felt the power they raised growing stronger all the while. At the end of the seventh time around, they stopped, each at the same instant, faced the body and lifted their hands.

Sarafina felt the energy—and, she hoped, her cousin's spirit with it—shoot forth from the circle they had trod, straight into the heavens.

Letting their bodies relax, they stood still and silent, each in her own thoughts.

Sarafina closed her eyes and sighing, lowered herself to the ground.

“The ritual is the job of the
Shuvani,
” Katerina said. “One of honor. And we have done it well. Preparing the body is not.”

Handling a dead body was a despised task among the tribe. When their own grandmother had passed, she had been bathed and dressed in her finest clothes even while she lay dying. No Gypsy wanted to touch the dead.

“Perhaps Gervaise wishes to teach us the lesson of humility,” Sarafina suggested. “Quiet, now. Melina returns.”

Melina carried a bundle of clothing, a pail of water scented with herbs and oils, and a soft cloth. She glanced at the small fire that had been left to burn itself out but said nothing. She had lived a long time and had no doubt seen the fire before. She knew better than to ask its meaning. The death rites were secret, known only to the
Shuvani,
passed from grandmother to granddaughter. Sarafina and her sister had learned them from their grandmother, as they had so many other things.

Melina knelt, watching in silence, waiting for the two of them to do the job they had been given. Sarafina thought in that moment, that even her hardhearted sister felt moved.

So they knelt, and they gently undressed the shell that had been Belinda. They washed the young woman carefully, even though every touch made chills race up Sarafina's spine. Belinda was not yet cold, but cool to the touch. She tried to keep the cloth between her palm and Belinda's flesh, but sometimes it slipped.

When the washing was finished, the two women unrolled and unfolded the red fabric Melina had brought; then they laid it out beside Belinda. Sarafina rolled the dead woman up onto one side, because she knew that while touching the corpse chilled her to her very marrow, her sister simply could not bring herself to do it. So she rolled poor Belinda, and Katerina tucked the cloth beneath her as far as she could manage. Then Fina lowered the body gently onto the cloth and rolled it up onto its other side, so Katerina could pull the fabric through.

They did a good job of it, Sarafina thought. The body rested almost perfectly centered on the open bolt of scarlet cloth.

Sarafina laid a small bit of fabric, cut in the shape of a perfect circle, upon Belinda's chest. Then, she took one side of the cloth, and her sister took the other, and they wrapped Belinda in it as carefully as they would have wrapped a baby, leaving only her head and her bare feet uncovered.