The Gorgon Field (5 page)

“A little,” she said. “In fact, I visited a couple of them some years ago. Glastonbury Tor was one. It was made by people in the megalithic period and endures yet. A three-dimensional labyrinth. I was with a group, and our guide was careful to point out that simply climbing the hill accounted for all the physiological changes we felt. Shortness of breath, a feeling of euphoria, heightened awareness.”

Ramón’s stillness seemed to increase, as if it were an aura that surrounded him and even part of the room. If one got close enough to him, she thought, the stillness would be invasive.

“I saw Croagh Patrick many years ago,” Don Carlos said. “Unfortuantely, I was a skeptic and refused to walk up it barefooted. I’ve always wondered what that would have been like.”

“The labyrinth is one of the strongest mystical symbols,” Ramón said. “It is believed that the evil at the center cannot walk out because of the curves. Evil flows in straight lines.”

“Must one find only evil there?” Constance asked.

“No. Good and evil dwell there side by side, but it is the evil that wants to come out.”

“The Minotaur,” she murmured. “Always we find the Minotaur, and it is ourself.”

“You don’t believe that good and evil exist independently of human agencies?” Ramón asked.

She shook her head.

“Señora, imagine a pharmacy with shelves of bright pills, red, blue, yellow, all colors, some sugar-coated. You would not allow a child to wander there and sample. Good and evil side by side, sometimes in the same capsule. Every culture has traveled the same path, from the simplest medicines to the most sophisticated, but they all have this in common: Side by side, in the same medicine, evil and good dwell forever intertwined.”

“I have read,” she said slowly, “that when the guru sits on his mountaintop, he increases his power, his knowledge, every time a supplicant makes the pilgrimage to him. In the same way, when children dance the maypole, the center gathers the power. At one time, the center was a person who became very powerful this way.”

Ramón nodded. “And was sometimes sacrificed at the conclusion of the ceremony.”

“Did you try to lure the child Lori to the center of the gorgons?” Her voice sounded harsh even to her own ears.

“No, señora.”

“You tried to coax me in.”

“No, señora. I regretted that you stopped, but I did not lure you.”

“Don Carlos is a believer. Why don’t you use him?”

“I wanted to,” Don Carlos said simply. “I can’t walk that far.”

“There must be others. Manuel. Or the girl Felicia. There must be a lot of believers here.”

“Perhaps because they believe, they fear the Minotaur too much,” Ramón said.

“And so do I,” she said flatly.

“No, señora. You do not believe in independent evil. You will meet your personal Minotaur, and you do not fear yourself.”

Abruptly, she stood up. “I am very tired. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go to bed now.”

Neither man moved as she crossed the room. Then Ramón said almost too softly to hear, “Señora, I was not at the gorgons this evening. I have spent the entire evening here with Don Carlos.”

She stopped at the door and looked back at them. Don Carlos nodded soberly.

“Constance,” he said, “if you don’t want to go all the way, leave here tomorrow. Don’t go back to the formations.”

“You’ve been here for years,” she said. “Why didn’t you do it a long time ago?”

For a moment, his face looked mummified, bitter; the expression changed, became benign again. “I was the wrong one,” he said. “I couldn’t find the way. I felt it now and then, but I couldn’t find my way.”

There was a right way and a wrong way, she thought, remembering. A right person and a wrong person. “Good night,” she said quietly, and left them.

She stood by her windows in the dark, looking out over the valley, the lake a silver disk in moonlight, the dark trees, pale granite cliffs. “Charlie,” she whispered to the night, “I love you.” She wished he was with her, and she closed her eyes hard on the futile wish. Good night, darling, she thought at him then. Sleep well. When she lay down in bed, she felt herself falling gently into sleep.

Charlie pulled on the hand brake and leaned forward to rest his head on the steering wheel, to ease the strain in his neck from watching so closely behind him with his head out the open door. Suddenly, he lifted his head, listening. Nothing, hardly even any wind to stir the trees. All at once, he admitted to himself that he would not be able to back out in the dark. The backup lights were too dim, the road too curvy, with switchbacks that were invisible, and a drop-off too steep, the rocky mountain too close. He had scraped the car several times already, and he had stopped too many times with one or two wheels too close to the edge or even over it. He had thought this before, but each time he had started again; now he reached out and turned off the headlights. The blackness seemed complete at first; gradually, moonlight filtered through the trees. It was all right, he thought tiredly. He could rest for a while and at dawn start moving again. He pulled the door shut, cracked the window a little, and leaned back, with his eyes closed, and slept.

When Charlie drove in the next morning, Constance met him and exclaimed at his condition. “My God, you’ve been wrestling with bears! Are you all right?”

“Hungry, tired, dirty. All right. You?”

“Fine. Manuel, a pot of coffee right now and then a big breakfast, steak, eggs, fruit, everything. Half an hour.”

Charlie waited until they were in their room to kiss her. She broke away, shaking her head. “You might have fought off bears, but you won. I’m going to run a bath while you strip. Come on, hop!”

He chuckled and started to peel off his clothes. She really was fine. She looked as if she had slept better than he had, anyway. Now the ordeal of trying to get back seemed distant and even ludicrous.

Manuel brought coffee while he was bathing; she took it the rest of the way and sat by the tub while he told her his adventures.

“You really think someone moved the sign?” she asked incredulously. “Why?”

“Why do I think it, or why did they do it?”

“Either. Both.”

“It was there this morning, back where it belonged. I think Ramón didn’t want me here last night. What happened?”

“Nothing. That must be breakfast.” She nearly ran out.

Nothing? He left the tub and toweled briskly, got on his robe, and went to the sitting room, where Manuel was finishing arranging the dishes.

When they were alone again and his mouth was full of steak, he said, “Tell me about it.”

Constance took her coffee to the window and faced out. “I don’t know what there is to tell. I had a nightcap with Don Carlos and Ramón and went to bed pretty early and slept until after eight.” She came back and sat down opposite him. “I really don’t know what happened,” she said softly. “Something important, but I can’t say what it was. There’s power in the gorgons, Charlie, real power. Anyone who knows the way can tap into it. That sounds so… stupid, doesn’t it? But it’s true. Let me sort it out in my own mind first, okay? I can’t talk about it right now. What did you find?”

“Enough to blow Ramón’s boat out of the water,” he said. At her expression of dismay, he added, “I thought that’s what we came here for.”

There was a knock on the door and she went to answer it. Deborah was there, looking pale and strained.

“All hell’s about to break loose today,” she said when Constance waved her in. “Charlie, I’m glad you’re back. Father’s in conference, and then he’s sending his associates to Denver to get together with company attorneys or something. And Tony’s due in by two. Father wants to clear the decks before then for the showdown. You’re invited. Three, in his apartment.”

An exodus began and continued all day. The helicopter came and went several times; a stream of limousines crept up the mountain road, vanished. The loud laughter was first subdued, then gone. Yesterday, the managers had all been supremely confident, clad in their invisible gray suits; today, the few that Constance had seen had been like schoolboys caught doing unspeakable things in the lavatory.

And now Charlie was probably the only person within miles who was relaxed and comfortable, wholly at ease, watching everything with unconcealed, almost childish interest. They were in Don Carlos’s apartment, waiting for the meeting to start. Tony Wyandot was in his mid-forties, trim and athletic, an executive who took his workouts as seriously as his mergers. He was dark, like his father and sister, and very handsome. Constance knew his father must have looked much like that at his age. He had examined her and Charlie very briefly when they were introduced, and, she felt certain, he knew their price, or thought he did. After that, he dismissed them.

Charlie sat at the far edge of the group, watchful, quiet. Ramón stood near the windows, also silent. Carl Wyandot entered the sitting room slowly, leaning on his cane, nodded to everyone, and took his leather chair, which obviously had been designed for his comfort. And Deborah sat near him, as if to be able to reach him if he needed help. She and Tony ignored Ramón.

Tony waited until his father was seated, then said, “I asked for a private meeting. I prefer not to talk business or family matters before strangers.”

Charlie settled more easily into his chair. Tony would do, he thought. Direct, straight to the point, not a trace of fear or subservience; but neither was there the arrogance that his appearance hinted at. Equal speaking to equal.

“I doubt we have many secrets,” his father said. “You hired detectives and so did your sister.” He inclined his head fractionally toward Charlie. “Go on.”

Tony accepted this without a flicker. “First, I am relieved that you’ve ordered the reorganization study to commence.

I’ll go to Denver, naturally, and stay as long as it’s necessary. Three months should be enough time.” He paused. “And I find it very disturbing that you’ve already signed papers about the dispensation of the valley.” His level tone did not change; he kept his gaze on his father, but the room felt as if a current had passed through it.

His father remained impassive and silent

“You have sole ownership, and you can dispose of your property as you see fit,” Tony went on, “but a case can be made that this is an unreasonable act”

Deborah made a sound, cleared her throat perhaps, or gasped. No one looked at her.

“I did not believe that you could be so influenced by a stranger that you would behave in an irrational way,” Tony said, his gaze unwavering. “That’s why I hired the detectives, to find out exactly why you were doing this. And I found out.” He paused again, in thought, then said, “I think we should speak in private, Father. I did find out.”

“Just say it.”

He bowed slightly. “Ramón is your son. The trail is tenuous, not easy to find, but once found, it leads only to that conclusion. He came here and claimed his share of your estate, and that’s why you’re giving him this valley.”

This time, Deborah cried out. “That’s a lie!”

Tony shook his head. “I wish it were. I had my agency check and double-check. It’s true. Father, you were trying to keep the past buried, protect us, yourself, and there’s no need. You provided well for him over the years, took care of his mother, saw that he had opportunities. You owe him nothing. A yearly allowance, if you feel you have to, but no more than that.”

Ramón had not moved. Constance glanced at him; his face was in deep shadow, with the windows behind him.

She recalled her own words: The brighter the light, the darker the shadow. Deborah was twisting her hands around and around; she looked at Charlie despairingly, and he shrugged and nodded.

“Father,” Tony said then, his voice suddenly gentle, “I think I can understand. There’s no record of the marriage of your father and mother. You were illegitimate, weren’t you?”

For the first time, Don Carlos reacted. His face flushed and his mouth tightened.

“But don’t you see that it’s unimportant now?” asked Tony.

“Haven’t I provided for you and your sister?”

“We all know you’ve been more than generous. No one disputes that.”

“And you would turn the valley into—what did you call it, a corporate resort? Knowing I detest the idea, you would do that.”

“Not right away,” his son said with a trace of impatience. “Places like this are vanishing faster all the time. You can hardly find a secluded spot even today. I’m talking about twenty years from now, fifteen at least.”

Don Carlos shook his head. “The business will be yours. I have provided a trust for Deborah. Ramón can have the valley. Do you want to pursue this in court?” His face might have been carved from the granite of the cliffs. His eyes were narrowed; they caught the light and gleamed.

He would welcome a fight, Constance realized, watching him. And he would win. Tony flinched away finally and stood up. He had learned well from his father; nothing of his defeat showed in his face or was detectable in his voice when he said, “As you wish, Father. You know I would not willingly do anything to hurt you.”

When he walked from the room, Deborah jumped up and ran after him. Now Charlie rose lazily from his chair, grinning. “Is he really finished?” he asked.

Don Carlos was looking at the door thoughtfully; he swung around as if surprised to find anyone still in the room. “He isn’t done yet,” he admitted. “Not quite yet.”

“Congratulations,” Charlie said, still grinning. “A masterful job of creating a new heir. I would not like to be your adversary.”

The old man studied him, then said in a quiet voice, “Are you exceedingly brave, or simply not very smart? I wonder. You are on my land, where I have numerous servants who are, I sometimes think, too fanatically loyal.”

Constance was looking from one to the other in bewilderment.

“Let me tell a different story,” Charlie said. “A group of people arrives at the top of the cliff, where the stream starts to tumble down into the valley. Two Mexican men, two Mexican women, a child, a white man, and an Indian guide. They can’t take horses down that cut, not safely, so they hobble them up there and go down on foot. Looking for gold? A holy place? What? Never mind. A fight breaks out and the white man and child survive, but when he climbs back out, the horses are gone, and from that bit of thievery, he gets the idea for the whole story he’ll tell about bandits. It works; people accept his story. And now his only problem is that he can’t find the valley again. He dies without locating it again. Why didn’t he kill the child, Carlos?”