Hallowed Ground (12 page)

Benjamin nodded. "Yes.
 
Yes we do."

"Good," the devil said, flourishing the roll of parchment he clutched in his left hand.
 
"There are formalities that must be adhered to, you understand, an
inking
of the agreement so that we are not faced with buyer's remorse or some other distressing squabble down the line.
 
Eternity is every bit as long as it sounds, and when you change your mind and seek to recant your trade I would have it in writing, bound in blood, so to speak, to prove that there is no wiggle room.
 
So, please, read, absorb, ask any questions you might have, but most of all, sign here."

Before Benjamin could voice agreement, or dissent, there was an awful screech.
 
The air above them exploded with sound, and a huge, decrepit looking raven dropped through the trees.
 
Benjamin tried to flinch, but he was too slow.
 
The bird landed on the stranger's shoulder with a solid thump.
 
Without hesitation, the man reached up, grabbed a long black feather, and plucked it.
 
The bird cried out and shuffled back and forth on its perch, but made no move to go.

"This will serve," the man said, and with a flourish he drew a shining blade from the pocket of his jacket.
 
He barely flicked his wrist, but when he folded his knife and returned it whence it came, he held a perfectly trimmed quill.
 
The man winked.

Benjamin's throat was so dry it burned.
 
His eyes watered, and all his strength had left him.
 
The stranger held out the pen with a flourish, and without thinking, Benjamin plucked it from the man's hand.

It was hot to the touch, and he would have dropped it, except he no longer had control of his hand.
 
He gripped the quill so tightly he was sure it would snap, but it was flexible and strong, shivering in his grip.

"There is no ink," he said softly.

The moment the words left his lips, he regretted them.
 
His memory of the past hour was vague, but something floated to the surface.
 
Something the man had said.

"Signed in blood."

Jeanne stepped close.
 
Benjamin turned at her approach, but too late to catch her intent.
 
She lashed out with one long nail and it bit into the flesh of his wrist.
 
Blood welled instantly.
 
She gripped his forearm and scraped the nail across the cut, cupping several fat droplets on her fingertip and bringing them to her lips.

She did not release her grip on his wrist.

"The quill," she said.
 
"Dip the quill, Benjamin."

The moment passed so slowly that the touch of the quill in the fresh cut on his wrist had passed, and the quill had pressed to the parchment before his gaze registered motion.
 
By the time the long swirls of his signature were etched onto the page, penned in brilliant crimson and fading to corroded, rust brown, his mouth opened.
 
As he completed the
S
and lifted the pen…he managed a whisper, just a tiny breath of sound that wheezed through dry lips and died short of sound.

"No," he said.

"Oh, I'm afraid it's much too late for that," the stranger chuckled.
 
"Signed and sealed, you see.
 
Very legal, very proper, and very final.
 
You'll find it quite binding, in and out of court.
 
I believe we have a deal, Benjamin."

Benjamin licked his lips.
 
He needed to moisten them so he could speak.
 
Something felt very wrong.
 
He couldn't move his feet, and his balance was failing.
 
The only thing keeping him upright was the iron hold of the witch, Jeanne Dubois, on his wrist.
 
The same grip that had saved him from tumbling into the abyss earlier that night, only tighter.

He tried again to move.
 
This time it was more than sluggishness.
 
Something held him in place.
 
He glanced down and cried out.
 
The earth beneath him had crumbled.
 
Pale, dead hands groped at his ankles and his calves.
 
He struggled harder, but they held him easily, clawing their way up as if he was their ladder to the surface.
 
A moment later, he realized with shock that they weren't climbing out…they were dragging him down.

"Wait!" he cried.
 
"Wait! We have a deal."

The stranger stood watching, a slow smile curling his lip.

"I do believe you are correct, Benjamin," he said.
 
"Have you forgotten your half so soon?"

"Elizabeth," Benjamin screamed.
 
He fought with every ounce of his strength, but he could no more free his legs than he could tear his wrists from Jeanne Dubois' grip.
 
She watched him, fascinated by his terror.
 
He thought she licked her lips.
 
He knew she smiled.

"Oh, never fear," the stranger chuckled.
 
"Your Elizabeth is pulling the air back into her lungs at this very moment.
 
Soon she'll be fully away, crawling out from under those flowers and heading into town.
 
A bargain is a bargain, and I'm a man of my word."

"My legs," Benjamin groaned.
 
The claw like fingers gripping his ankles and calves dug in, nails biting bone deep, and the groan rose to a scream.

"I wouldn't worry overmuch about the legs," the dark man said.
 
He leaned in conspiratorially, keeping his voice low.
 
"You don't really need them anymore.
 
I mean, in one form or another, I suppose, but once we've moved on…"

"Moved on?
 
What are you talking about?"
 
Benjamin tried to focus, but the pain was excruciating.
 
Despite the cold he was drenched in sweat.

"Of course moved on.
 
Crossed the river, descended to the dark place, whatever you like to call it.
 
You didn't think I was going to change my mind."

"You promised to bring Elizabeth back to me – I offered my soul."

"Son," the man's eyes darkened, and all traces of false humor left his features.
 
"You should really learn to pay attention.
 
Our bargain was her life for your soul.
 
I don't recall telling you I was going to wait for payment.
 
I'm not really in the business of happy endings…a banker like yourself should understand.
 
Payment on delivery."

At that moment something burst through the soil at his feet.
 
The hand, if it was a hand, was large enough to wrap around both his legs at once.
 
The fingers curled tightly, crushing his knees together, and there was a sickening crunch as his bones gave way.
 
With the last dying strength remaining to him, he stretched out his free hand and clutched at the witch's wrist.
 
He held her, as she held him.
 
He dug in his fingers.

"I paid you," he said.

She met his gaze.
 
She turned, still smiling, and nodded to the stranger.

"The poor boy has a point," she said.

"And what, pray tell, would that be?" the man asked.
 
"I'm afraid that if there's a point, I missed it."

"Well," Jeanne Dubois said, her voice a husky whisper, "I had a business deal with Benjamin that preceded yours, and I'm afraid I may have been more generous.
 
I may have said she would come back…to him."

"That
is
unfortunate," the stranger said, nodding gravely.
 
"I don't suppose you signed an agreement?
 
A contract?
 
A legal document binding to and beyond the grave?"

He held out the contract and unrolled it with a flourish.

"Such as this," he said.
 
"The way businessmen do business – the mark of a gentleman."

"Well," Jeanne said, as if considering the man's words, "I see what you mean.
 
I have no such scrap of dead tree to bind my bargain in blood.
 
I come from an earlier time, a time of honor.
 
In that day, a man – or woman – spoke their truth, and they stood behind it.
 
The words were enough to bind.
 
I thought you'd remember."

The stranger looked at Jeanne Dubois as if seeing her for the first time.
 
After a moment, his empty smile returned, and he bowed.

Something yanked Benjamin downward with incredible force.
 
He clung to the witch's wrist, unable to scream.
 
He was buried to his waist in the packed dirt of the road and sinking.
 
She held him fast.

"It has been a long time," the dark man said.

"It will be a long time again, I think," Jeanne replied.
 
She did not smile.

In that instant, everything shifted.
 
Jeanne yanked back on Benjamin's arm, and there was a wet, tearing sound.
 
In that same instant, fast as a snake, she snatched at the contract in the dark stranger's hand.
 
He moved – and he was fast – but she owned the grace and speed of moonlight.

He stepped into shadows.
 
The raven took flight in a screaming cacophony of flapping wings and screeching, raucous caws.
 
The contract tore.
 
It was not a clean tear. It started at the edge of the page and ripped a jagged line at an angle downward, splitting the signature cleanly.

Benjamin saw none of this.
 
He stared down at where his torso had once joined his legs. Bone and gristle, flesh and dripping blood trailed away toward the yawning hole where his legs had disappeared.
 
He tried to scream but sucked blood and air into disassociated lungs.

Jeanne's image flickered, shifted, and again there was a sickening wrench as she drove her legs, now talons, into the soil and kicked into flight.
 
Bright, silvery wings spread out to either side.
 
She whirled in that instant, latched onto Benjamin's ruined form and soared.
 
Within seconds she cleared the tops of the nearest trees and was gone.

The dark stranger stood at the crossroads, staring after her.
 
The ground had drawn in and sealed itself.
 
He stood still as a statue, and then, from deep inside his thin, powerful frame, laughter burst forth.
 
It didn't start slowly and build, but rolled out like thunder.
 
The frost, which had momentarily warmed and begun to melt, became a sheet of solid, crystal ice that coated ground and trees.
 
The sound of his laughter cracked it, and everything near him shattered, falling away as so much frigid dust.

Carefully, he rolled the torn contract.
 
He leaned and shot his hand into the earth with no more effort than that of a child sticking his hand into a snow drift.
 
He pulled free a long, slender tube, and slid the document inside.
 
When it was sealed, he tucked it under his jacket, turned, and walked away down one of the crossed trails.
 
As he reached the edge of the shadows of the first great trees, he began to fade from sight.
 
A few paces more, and he had disappeared completely.
 
Only the dusting of frost, and a fallen quill, carved from a raven's feather, marked his passing.

‡‡‡

As if waking from a dream, Mariah became aware of the fire, still crackling in front of her.
 
The day had passed.
 
The shadow of the wagon had grown long and engulfed them, only to disappear as it neared the blaze.
 
Balthazar sat beside her, hands steepled and an odd, contemplative expression masking his angular features.
 
He'd fallen silent.
 
Or…she shook her head, confused.
 
Had he even spoken?

"That can't be all," she said.
 
She found her throat dry again.
 
Was it possible they'd sat there through the afternoon, and the early evening?
 
Could it be night?
 
She reached out and picked up her drink.
 
It was still cold.

"No story is ever truly over," Balthazar said.
 
He sat up straighter, unfolded his hands, and turned to gaze at her.

"Lives and stories are circular.
 
Everything is a pattern.
 
You are correct in guessing that this one is unfinished."

He held up the torn document again.
 
Mariah's mouth dropped open as comprehension drowned coherent thought.
 
The bottom third of the document was missing.
 
It was torn directly through the signature.
 
What remained, as well as she could make it out, was the name Benjamin.