Patriot (A Jack Sigler Continuum Novella) (3 page)

“Gentlemen,” the mambo bokor declared, twirling around the central sarcophagus with melodic giggles. “Let me introduce you to da Brave Ghede.”

3

The three men leapt back, their gawking eyes fixed on the enormous reptile coiled around the branch of a nearby mangrove tree. The creature’s length was difficult to determine, but its width was easily three feet in diameter, and its head was the size of a small carronade.

The snake hissed at the intruders, then bobbed its head back and forth as it eyed each of them hungrily. Panicked and unable to flee the clearing through the Willow Gate, Greer spun and ran to his right, only to be stopped by a second cannon-sized snake head, just five yards away. He then turned to run in another direction, but saw that a third head bobbed and weaved, blocking that path as well.

“What devilry is this?” Greer shouted, backing away to return to the company of Finkle and William. His eyes had traced the long, sinewy necks of each snake to the centrally coiled body wrapped around the mangrove limb.
Is this three distinct creatures, or one with three heads
?

“I already tell you.” The mambo bokor twirled around the sarcophagus, her arms spread wide. “Dis be da Brave Ghede. He guards da dead from da living, and brings dose wit’out tribute to da place of da dead.”

“Tribute.” Finkle had his pistol calmly trained on one of the heads. “You mentioned tribute before. What kind of tribute does it require?”

She moved toward them, seeming to glide across the damp earth, as if hovering on a cushion of air. “You wish to remove Lanme Wa from dis place…wish to wake
He Who Sleeps Like Death
from his rest.” Her mocha-colored fingers playfully stroked at the scruff of Finkle’s chin. “If you take him, one of you must stay. One of you must be tribute to da Brave Ghede.”

“Sacrifice! You’re talking of human sacrifice,” Finkle said.

The creature uncoiled itself from the branch, and lowered to the ground. It was indeed one monstrous snake, with three heads split unevenly along three squirming necks. The snake slithered toward them, the length of its tail still concealed by the thick jungle foliage. Each of the three heads locked on a different intruder and captured them with its gaze.

“Three heads,” Finkle said. “That’s why you demanded that three of us enter.” He turned toward the Willow Gate, only to discover it was no longer there. It was as if the jungle itself had swallowed up the willow trees, the moment the snake had appeared.

“Three heads. One of three tributes,” she said, her face was now solemn. Almost sad. “You came for Lanme Wa, but one of you must take his place.”

“But he’s no good to us dead!” Greer shouted, his face dripping with sweat. Shaking, he withdrew his sword, but he kept his back against William’s as he watched the monstrous reptile. “We won’t take him. Just let us leave this place.”

“It be too late for dat now,
mon cher
. You’ve entered da boneyard. One of you must stay.”

Greer wheeled around, pointing his cutlass at William. “Then, I choose him! Take him.”

William turned, his eyes widening, and he screamed. “No! No! I serve da l’wa, too.” He turned to face the serpent’s central head, and bent himself into a placating bow. “I serve da l’wa, too. Please!”

Finkle leapt between the large black man and the quartermaster, slapping the flat of Greer’s sword away with his hand. “Stop that, Mr. Greer. Act like a man for a change.”

Greer swept his sword up to the scientist’s neck. “What about him?” His wild eyes pleaded with the snakes. “He’s old. He’s lived his life already. Take him!”

Annoyed, Finkle turned the barrel of his gun at the quartermaster. “Mr. Greer, I will ask you again to stand down. There is no need to panic. I’m sure we can work out an amicable, mutually beneficial, treaty with this…this
jungle spirit
.”

But Greer did not back down. Nor did he remove his blade from Finkle’s neck, and the trio stood there in silence, staring at one another with coiled, anxious muscles. It was only at the sound of ominous hissing that they broke their gaze from one another, and turned their attention to the three-headed python. All three heads had spread apart and were now glaring at their potential targets, as streams of what looked like venomous saliva oozed from their lipless mouths.

William closed his eyes, making the sign of the cross a second time. He mouthed a silent prayer while gripping a set of pearl rosary beads from around his neck. The snakehead nearest him jerked around his shoulder, its tongue flicking closer to the man’s clenched eyelids.

“Stop this, witch!” Finkle shouted. He didn’t pull his eyes away from his own serpent head, but swiveled his pistol in the direction in which he guessed the mambo bokor was standing. “Call them off. Now.”

“Oh,
cher
!” She whispered in his ear on the opposite side from where he thought she’d been. “If only I could. But I serve da Brave Ghede, not da other way around.”

“But Greer is correct. If Lanme Wa is dead, he really is no use to us.”

Still whispering in his ear, her soft lips brushed against his flesh, sending goose pimples down his neck. “I never did say he was dead,
monsieur
. I only said he was sleeping…
like
death. Dere’s a difference, no?”

Slowly, Finkle turned to look at her.

She was smiling devilishly at the man, reminding Greer of a wolf before it feasted on a fallen elk. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The crazed old man was actually believing her. He could see it in Finkle’s eyes. “You’re not actually considering what this…this harpy is saying, are you? Just shoot the snake, and let’s be done with it!”

“Dat would not be such a good idea, I think.” Suddenly, the witch was at Greer’s ear, yet he’d never seen her leave Finkle’s side. When she spoke to him, it had none of the playful seductiveness she’d used on the older man. “Da Brave Ghede is only now sizin’ da three of you up—deciding on who it wants as tribute. Dough he look solid enough, he’s made of spirit flesh. Guns won’t be harmin’ him none, I assure you. Nor will dat sword o’ yours. So if I was you, I’d be behavin’ more respectful-like, lest he decide to choose you.”

The threat had its desired effect, and Greer bit down on his lips to restrain himself from speaking anymore. Though he wasn’t yet ready to admit that the creature that now surrounded them was of the supernatural realm, there was no denying its ominous menace, or the three salivating heads.

Suddenly, the woman was at the black man’s side, standing on bare tip-toes, and whispering into his ear as well. Greer strained to hear what she was saying, but he couldn’t detect anything but the cold, harsh hiss of the python bobbing near his ear. The slave, whose eyes were still clenched tight, seemed to relax a bit when she pulled away and cast a coy smile at Greer from over William’s shoulder.

“So tell us, madam,” Finkle said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “How does the selection work? What must we do to proceed? Are we expected to just stand here and wait for our doom?”

She glanced over at the central snake head, then back at the old scientist. “Da Brave Ghede says you may proceed to Lanme Wa’s grave, and prepare him for his journey back to da sea. By da time you be finished, he will have chosen his tribute.”

“And if we don’t?” Greer’s eyes widened in a silent scream when he realized the question had come from his own treacherous lips. “If we choose to leave him to rest, and return to our ship without him?”

The mambo bokor cocked her head to one side. Her glare was cold, and unsympathetic. “I thought we already spoke of dis. A tribute will be had, one way or another.” She padded over to the shell sarcophagus, and beckoned them over with a hand. “Lanme Wa has slept long enough. It time he be waking up, and joining da world of da living once more. No more sulking at da cruelties he’s endured. No more hiding from his destiny. Da Sea King must rise.”

4

The three men moved cautiously toward the blood-covered casket in the center of the boneyard. For the first time since entering the clearing, Finkle had a chance to truly appreciate the size of the bone markers surrounding the sarcophagus. Brushing past what appeared to be a human tibia that rose up to the old man’s chest, he paused a second to examine it. The bone was not calcified, but was bleached near-white by the sun. Finkle could see no fractures, artifacts or identifying marks of any kind. He turned his attention to the other bones throughout the clearing, all in perfect proportion to the one he now stood next to, and he wondered, not for the last time, from what manner of creature such bones might come. They must have indeed been some sort of giant race. The thought sent a chill down his spine, despite the fetid, stifling air of the jungle surrounding them.

“Finkle,” Greer hissed, snapping him from his reverie. “Finkle, for God’s sake, man…focus!”

Annoyed by the interruption, Finkle turned to face Captain Reardon’s whining second-in-command. The privateer captain and he were certainly going to have a word or two about his man’s behavior during this expedition. He simply would not put up with…

Finkle’s train of thought came to an abrupt stop when he noticed something utterly unnerving about the strange serpentine loa that continued to vex them. The creature’s trio of heads had followed them to the center of the boneyard, clearly one hundred yards from the tree line, and still its tail disappeared into the shadows of vegetation beyond. It was as if there was no end to its length, and the old man wondered if the snake was truly a creature of the supernatural, as the vodou witch doctor suggested. But before he could voice his observations, the bokor spoke once more.

“Now, messieurs,” she said, her pure white smile nearly glowing in the dim torchlight. “Remove da lid, and da ritual will begin.”

The three men looked to each other, then to her, then to the serpent heads and back to her again. They then eyed the monstrous skull carving on the sarcophagus’s lid, and sighed resignedly.

“Fine,” Finkle said. “Let’s get to it, men.”

“But the moment we do, that beast will take one of us,” Greer said. His eyes were as wide as cannon shot. “The only thing keeping us alive is that the grave hasn’t been desecrated.”

“You forget, sir, we don’ have much of a choice,” William countered. Oddly, Finkle thought the black man’s countenance had calmed remarkably well since the bokor had whispered in his ear. He moved with a greater confidence than he had upon entering the clearing, and now, as the man spoke, he did so with a more commanding presence. His voice was deep, and rumbled as thunder with every syllable. If they managed to escape all this, Finkle felt William was a man he would very much like to get to know—to find out what the witch doctor had told him, if nothing else. “The l’wa be takin’ one of us regardless. He’ll take da one most deserving of tribute. Even now, he be sizing up each of our hearts. Might as well get on with what we came here to do, I say.”

“Spoken like a true slave,” Greer spat. But he stepped toward the sarcophagus, and took hold of one edge of the lid. Nodding to one another, Greer and Finkle grabbed hold of two corners, while William strained against both southernmost edges. “One. Two. Three!”

In unison, they heaved at the lid and nearly leapt aside as a hiss of air whistled from the opened seal. Recovering quickly, they continued to inch the lid back and forth until it slid past the casket’s edge and fell to the ground with a crash.

The snake lunged toward the sarcophagus, wrapping its muscled body around the length of it three times, before bringing its heads up to stare at its potential tributes again. Finkle and Greer leapt back, but William remained fixed in his position, a wry smile spreading across his face.

What on Earth did the witch tell him
? Finkle wondered.
He’s so blasted confident. As if he knows he won’t be chosen
.

But the loa made no move toward any of them. Instead, it simply continued hissing and watching each of the three men with eager eyes…as did the mambo bokor.

“I need blood to start da ritual. A tiny drop will do.” She gestured, imitating the act of running a blade across her hand, and letting the invisible blood drip into the casket. “Don’t worry now. Won’t be hurtin’ much ’tall.”

Finkle looked to Greer, but the quartermaster shook his head adamantly. With a sigh, the scientist drew a knife from his belt, stepped to the casket and peered inside. He nearly retched at the sight. The body within had once been a rather tall man—six foot, at least—and broad in shoulder, if his decaying waistcoat and shirt were any indication. But the ravages of time had not been kind to the pirate. There was very little muscle or tissue left to support the jet black, leathery parchment of his desiccated flesh. His head was in no better shape. Although he still boasted a thick, but horribly tangled mane of dark, flowing hair, and a full, matted beard, his face was drawn, almost skeletal. His lips were so shriveled, it gave the impression of the ghastly, death’s-head grin of the old Jolly Roger of bygone years. A sword, short and stubby, and unlike anything Finkle had ever seen before, rested on the pirate’s chest. Finkle peered closer, and saw the strange engraving of Greek letters along the blade. The metal was too tarnished to make out what the inscription said.

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered now. From looking at the shriveled body before him, he knew with disparaging certainty that they’d made this trip in vain, and that one of them would pay the ultimate price for his hubris.

“Let it be me,” he whispered, slowly backing away.

“
Pardón
?
”

“It’s my fault. I led these men here…to this fool’s errand. They shouldn’t suffer for my mistake. Let the loa take me, and let them be.”

The bokor cocked her head at him, as if not understanding what he was saying.

“I really must insist.” His voice was louder than he’d expected, fueled by disappointment, if not a little bitterness.

“But
mon cher
, da blood hasn’t been supplied yet.”

“What good will that do? Lanme Wa is dead! The legends were erroneous.”

“And what’s it matter to you? It not your blood I be needin’.” She nodded over at William, who instantly pulled his knife from its sheath, sliced at the palm of his hand and dribbled a fresh puddle of blood into the dead pirate’s coffin. The moment he pulled his hand away, the serpent struck. Coiling itself around the black man’s torso, it squeezed the air from his lungs before he could even scream.

“Stop!” Finkle cried, leveling his pistol at the python, and firing. The slug tore through the creature’s body and impacted against a nearby tree, but the serpent continued to squeeze the life from its prize, completely unfazed. The old man turned to the bokor, his eyes pleading with her. “There’s no need to kill him. Please.”

She ignored him, and instead she moved over to the casket, withdrew a small glass bottle from somewhere under her dress and used it to scoop the spilled blood before corking it closed. The moment the blood was securely inside the bottle, the Brave Ghede streaked into the jungle, dragging poor William with it, before disappearing completely from sight.

“Da tribute is accepted,” the bokor said.

Greer dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face, as he repeatedly thanked the ‘Lord Above’ for delivering him from such a gruesome fate. Finkle, disgusted with the display, whirled around to face the bokor.

“You. Witch.” His teeth were grinding together as he struggled to contain the rage building inside him.

“
Oui
?
” That infernal, ever-present smile seemed to radiate out from her.

“You gave him hope, then took it away. You lied to him. He thought he was safe, and you betrayed that trust.”

She nodded at this, then lifted the crimson-dripping bottle up to him. “But
mon cher
,
dis
is his hope. Dis is his promise. With dis, young William will be discovering power he never before imagined. And, after our journey’s end, he’ll be livin’ once again…and far longer dan any o’ us have ever dreamed.”